


Blood on my Name

by Gold_On_The_Ceiling_42



Series: Stiles Winchester [1]
Category: Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Demons, In Between Teen Wolf Seasons 3a and 3b, Stiles Winchester, Supernatural Season 6, The Colt (Supernatural), The Vampire Diaries is briefly mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-02
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-07 08:01:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 32,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4255662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gold_On_The_Ceiling_42/pseuds/Gold_On_The_Ceiling_42
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles Stilinski is dead and gone. Who is the hunter that has taken his place?</p><p>Set in between Teen Wolf seasons 3a and 3b, Scott's pack discovers something shocking about their favorite spastic human that could have devastating consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The End of Stiles Stilinski

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! Thanks so much for reading! So this is a story I wrote in January and published on Fanfiction.net under the same name, but I am publishing this and all my other stories here too. This story is complete so I'll be updating regularly, and there will soon be a sequel and prequel. Also, be on the lookout for my Supernatural story "One Way Ticket". Ok so the timeline of this story is warped and kind of crazy, but work with it, it will get explained. I shrank down some of the times for the SPN timeline, (a year could now be a month) but it's set right before "The Man Who Would Be King" in season six and 1 week after Teen Wolf 3a, which is right before 3b. Hopefully it will make more sense, the chapters will get longer, and enjoy!

Ch. 1 

The End of Stiles Stilinski

It was a spectacular sunset, and the view from Derek’s loft, with it’s vast windows drinking in the rays, would have been perfect under different circumstances. Under any different circumstances. Because instead of marveling at the shades of orange and yellow bathing the sun-filled loft, the pack was otherwise occupied with a mischievous demon. A demon who had a knife to Stiles’ throat. 

“Come any closer” he growled menacingly, “and I slice him like a turkey. I wonder how fast he heals, hm?" The demon slowly backed away towards the door and laughed maniacally. Meanwhile, the pack stood in a half circle around him, unsure of what to do. Their stances were hesitant, as if frozen in action. Allison's hands were mid-reach for her bow but she stood still. Scott and Peter's eyes were glowing and Isaac's claws were out but none of them made a move. Chris was glaring daggers but hadn't drawn his gun, for fear of provoking the threat. All but Derek showed clear signs of panicking, none more so than Stiles. 

“Guys, really, it’s fine. Nothing to worry about!” Stiles said frantically, trying to broadcast even the slightest aura of calamity. His body, however, told a different story. Scott listened to his best friend’s rapid heartbeat, remarking that it did seem like it would jump out of his chest. He saw the way Stiles’ hands shook, and heard the faint tremor in his voice. Stiles was scared for his life, and Scott was scared too. They had never encountered demons before. Peter had said that their possibility of dealing with them was less than zero, and by the time any of them learned about holy water or devil’s traps, it was too late. The demon was on to them, and it had toyed with them so much that Scott had forgotten why it was in town in the first place. He mentally shook his head. It didn’t matter. What mattered was Stiles, held captive by the spawn of Satan, beads of blood forming at his throat where the demon was over-excitedly holding the knife. It was Stiles, Scott lamented, who had found the information on devil’s traps and holy water in the first place. Stiles who had suggested that it was a demon they were dealing with, days before anyone even entertained the idea. It was Stiles the research expert who could have saved them all, and look where he was now. Scott could see the emotional toil Stiles was going through, and his heart cried out for his friend. Around him, the pack members were immensely tense. Allison was still as a statue, eyes darting around frantically. Scott could practically see the gears in her head turning, looking, searching for any way out of the situation. There was none. Scott had already contemplated everything from turning Stiles to throwing a gallon of holy water. None of them were possible, none of them would enable him to reach Stiles in time, and none of them were a match for the scariest creature Scott had ever seen. Scott’s mind reeled as he thought through the horrible things the demon had done in the past week alone. The people he killed, the souls he corrupted, the lives he ruined. However terrible, none of those would amount to the true horror he was about to perform: the murder of Stiles Stilinski. And with that thought Scott came to the conclusion that the demon had to be stopped. He would end its reign of terror. He would save Stiles, no matter what. Scott prepared himself for bloodshed. What floored him, though, is what happened next. 

“Now nobody move.” The pack cringed at the sound of the hideous voice. They wondered what tortures in Hell could have twisted this soul so much. The demon continued. “I’m going to leave now. You will never see me again. I’m going to take this little piece of fresh meat here”- Derek growled at the passive name-”And I’ll be on my way. You attack, he dies. You follow me, he dies. You don’t and he still dies.” Stiles whimpered and the pack winced, feeling pity at his predicament and anger at the being who could reduce someone who stood so tall to someone so pathetic. The demon was oblivious. “If you play nice, I call off some of the deals I made. I might even return Stiles’ body. Or I collect the souls of half the town, and this one dies slowly and painfully, with his body parts scattered across the country.” The pack stood still in horror, meanwhile Stiles had begun to cry quietly. Scott found it remarkable that the crying had only begun then, and he marveled at Stiles’ strength. Realizing he had been looking at the floor rather than the terrible scene unfolding before him, Scott raised his head to look at Stiles’ tearing eyes. His world came crashing down on him as he began to realize the inevitable. Stiles was going to die. He could only imagine what Stiles must be thinking. He must hate me, Scott realized. I dragged him into this, and if I hadn’t, Stiles would be a normal Junior. It’s my fault. As if realizing what Scott was thinking, Stiles looked at him and shook his head. 

“No Scott, it isn’t your fault.” 

“Yes it is!” Scott protested, near to tears himself. The demon had a fierce glint in his eyes, clearly enjoying Scott’s anguish. “Stiles, no, A-” His lips moved silently as he tried to form the syllables to Stiles’ impossible first name. 

“Scott stop.” Stiles said firmly. 

“No Stiles. If you’re going to die then I should at least apologize to you using your real name.” Scott saw something flash in Stiles’ eyes, but was unable to place it. Meanwhile, Stiles shook his head again. 

“You’re wrong Scott, for two reasons.” Scott opened his mouth to speak but Stiles drove on. “First of all, you don’t have to apologize. It isn’t your fault. If anything it’s mine for not realizing what we were dealing with sooner. And secondly,” and Scott swore he saw a glimmer of a smirk behind the tear stained face. He shook his head. That was impossible. “Secondly, that isn’t my real first name. My real first name is Stiles.” 

There was a pause and the pack glanced at each other, clearly confused. The demon, however, let out a mirth-filled laugh. 

“Unbelievable!” he roared, enjoying himself, if possible, even more. “Your name really is Stiles Stilinski!” Stiles raised his eyes, and there was no mistaking the ghost of a smirk now. 

“No, it isn’t.” 

What happened next was a blur. One minute both demon and victim were facing the pack with their backs to the door. Next, Stiles had twisted away from his captor in such a way that both their profiles were visible to the pack, parallel to the door and washed in sunlight. The demon yelled as his arm was forcibly twisted. The knife clattered to the ground. Then, in a move so fast that Scott barely caught it, Stiles drew a brown, slender gun from his waistband and aimed it at the demon’s face. 

Shock was palpable in the room as the pack froze completely. All of them, Scott, Allison, Lydia, Chris, Derek, Peter, Isaac. All were utterly still. Scott noticed that from the moment the gun had been drawn, Stiles’ heart was painfully steady. A cold, calculating look had replaced his formerly panicked expression, and even the tears seemed to freeze on his face. It was like he was a whole other person. 

Although Stiles and the demon were hardly an arm’s length apart, Scott noted, the chances of the demon fighting back were slim. Scott wondered how such a dingy, old looking gun could strike so much fear and shock in the heartless monster. Said monster’s mouth was in an open “o” of surprise, and Scott saw that expression mirrored on everyone’s face. It was probably on his own face too, he realized. 

Everyone was still again, until finally Chris spoke up, his shocked expression tinged with awe and wonder. “Is that-” 

“The Colt” Stiles finished firmly, pulling back a metal tab. A click could be heard as a bullet moved into place. The demon was still motionless, almost captivated by the long brown barrel of the western-looking gun. His hands were in the air. 

“What do you mean,” he growled slowly, sounding even more dangerous than before, though the effect was lost with his obvious surrender, “when you say your name isn't Stiles Stilinski?” 

Stiles grinned and it was terrifying. Scott could only imagine what the demon thought. He looked at the array of pinks and reds that washed over the pair, and knew that the beauty of the sunset would be the last thing the demon would ever see. 

“I mean,” Stiles said, sounding every bit more dangerous than the creature from hell, “that my real name is Stiles Winchester.”   
Derek, Peter, and Chris Argent instantly paled. A priceless look of shock and terror was graced across the demon’s visage for a split second, before Stiles pulled the trigger and the Colt was emptied into its face.


	2. We're Here For Stiles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I haven't updated in a while.... and I'm very sorry. I'll upload like 5 chapters to make it up to you guys. Thanks to everyone who commented/left kudos!

Ch. 2 

We're Here for Stiles

The body of the demon fell, and still nobody moved. Scott glanced at the corpse, with blood pooling on the floor. The vessel was a man, mid-thirties, and without the vile thing poisoning his words, Scott would have a hard time picturing the man hurting anyone. He began to pity the poor man. The demon deserved death, that much was clear, but Stiles had just killed a human, too. Even Scott hadn’t done that. The silence felt like eons but was only moments. It was broken by Chris Argent, who cleared his throat and opened his mouth. 

Whatever Chris was about to say was punctured by the sharp sound of Derek’s alarm. “What the-” Derek growled, but everyone knew. Someone else was coming. Scott looked at Stiles for the first time since the kill. Not in the eyes- he was terrified by what he’d find there. But Scott could tell by Stiles’ suddenly fidgety stance that he knew who the new intruders were. 

All of the sudden the door slid open and two men ran into the loft, guns blazing. They stopped and looked around, guns still raised. Scott felt their searching gaze on him as they took in everything from his glowing eyes to Isaac’s claws, from the girls’ tears to the blood on the floor and finally to his best friend, a body at his feet and his gun still raised. 

Scott took in their appearances as well. Each had a scent around them, and if Scott didn’t know better he would say it was death. It was oddly similar to Peter’s. One was taller than the other, freakishly so, and he had darker hair. They both had plaid shirts underneath their thick coats (kinda like Stiles, Scott realized), and Scott figured that there were probably more weapons in the pockets. 

After a moment, the dark-haired giant lowered his gun, seemingly unfazed by the crazy scene they had walked into. The shorter man did not put his gun away, but suddenly he spoke. “We’re here for Stiles.” 

 

As Dean loaded a clip into his gun, all he could think was that Stiles was an idiot. Not calling about the demon until last minute? Idiotic. But then, that was Stiles. Kid could go from terminator to teddy bear in ten seconds, and Dean had experienced it first-handedly. When the call came, a mere three hours ago, Dean had been shocked but not surprised. Werewolves had found the kid, it was only a matter of time before demons did too. In the corner of his mind Dean wondered if the demon knew who Stiles really was, but decided it didn’t matter. They high-tailed it here no matter what. It wasn’t even Stiles Dean was worried about. The kid could take care of himself. No, what Dean was worried about was the demon, and it turned out he was right! 20 people dead in 10 days, and 1,000 more would be in 10 years. What kind of son-of-a-bitch had the balls to make 1,000 deals? A nasty one according to Crowley. It had taken some pushing, but finally Crowley admitted that a demon was missing from his ranks. He suspected it had gone rogue. It did, Dean thought grimly. Deciding he was done loading his guns, Dean looked at Sam, who was looking at the loft building apprehensively. 

“Should we go in?” Sam asked. 

Dean rolled his eyes. 

“Of course we should go in, dumbass. Even if Stiles isn’t in trouble yet, which is a big if, he sure as hell has some explaining to do. You got the knife?” Sam glared at him, showed him the knife in his pocket, then sighed. 

“Yeah, you’re right. Come on, let’s go.” Sam said. He and Dean entered the building, climbed the stairs, then crept slowly along the hallway to the door, guns raised. Finally they stood, backs against the walls, on either side of the door. Sam shot him a look that asked whether he should enter. Dean shook his head. He could hear voices, and while he couldn’t tell what they said, one of them was Stiles’. 

Then they heard the gunshot, and slid open the door in a matter of seconds. Dean entered the loft with his gun still raised and took in the scene around him. He saw the kids with glowing eyes and claws. Mentally he shrugged. He’d seen worse. Looks like Stiles was right. These are type B werewolves. And they can’t be killed by silver. Awesome. Although this breed only had a tiny mention in Dad’s journal. It didn’t take long to realize what Stiles was dealing with when he first encountered them. The wolves (and humans) in question were staring at him now. Well, some were. The others were looking at something else. Dean shifted his gaze to the right of him and saw Stiles. His eyes widened as he took in the blood and the gun. So that’s where it went. Oh, boy, what the hell has he done now? 

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean glanced at Sam. If he was fazed, he didn’t show it, and Dean realized he probably didn’t either. Nothing even was surprising about the scene, except for the idiot. Speaking of which... Dean saw Sam lower his gun. That was the cue to speak. So he looked at the kid with the red eyes, the alpha, the leader, and said “We’re here for Stiles.”


	3. The Wolves and the Winchesters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapters get longer after this, I swear! Thanks so much for reading!

Ch. 3 

The Wolves and the Winchesters

Almost immediately after Dean spoke, the pack took a few steps forward to surround Stiles. However, they were still wary, Sam noted. Almost as if they were only protecting him out of instinct. The only one actually close enough to touch Stiles was Scott, and he didn’t look like he was planning to. Scott, Sam thought. The leader. The Alpha. Stiles had told them about him, had told them about all of them, and warned them that they would react this way. If Sam listened, he could hear 5 werewolves growling. With a jolt, he realized they had no idea who he was. If two strangers barged into his home (not that he had one) with guns and asked for his friend, he would probably shoot first and ask questions later. It was a miracle they hadn’t attacked, but maybe that was due to the shock of seeing said friend shoot a demon. 

“Dean,” Sam said urgently, “put the gun down.” Dean glared at him but complied, his eyes still trained on the wolves. “Ok,” Sam said, this time speaking to the pack sprawled below him, “let’s reintroduce ourselves. I’m Sam Winchester, and this is my brother Dean.” 

If possible, that made things worse. Upon hearing his last name, Derek and Peter’s eyes glowed blue, and their claws came out. Chris Argent finally took out his gun and aimed it at the Winchesters. Sam raised his eyebrows. Guess they’ve heard of him. 

Dean looked like his day was made. “Awesome.” His gun was raised again, and he made a big show of cocking it. 

Stiles finally sprung into action. “Whoa guys! Whoa!” He dropped the Colt and it clattered on the floor. He stood with his hands raised, facing his pack, separating the wolves and the Winchesters. “Everybody calm down! Guys, they are not going to hurt you. Not unless you do something stupid!” No sooner was this said then a growl broke out. It was Isaac. The werewolf in question had taken a defensive stance, claws extended and eyes glowing. Poised to attack. Stiles shook his head frantically as Isaac crouched, but Isaac lept over Stiles and launched himself at Sam. 

“Isaac!” Scott yelled, but it was pointless. He was already airborne. Sam had a moment to look surprised before the werewolf landed on top of him. Isaac’s feet hit the ground, but so did his legs, his shoulders, his head. Sam stood over him, foot on his chest, gun aimed at his head. His formerly placid expression was stone cold, and nothing compared to Dean’s murderous glare. Isaac’s blood ran cold as he got the message. These men were dangerous. 

Sam looked at Stiles, who nodded. Sam took his foot off of Isaac’s chest and reached down to help him up. Isaac reluctantly took his hand, and was not surprised when Sam pulled him to his feet and shoved him down the stairs to his pack. “Are we done here?” he asked. Isaac nodded. 

“Go to hell” Isaac whispered, but fear dripped from his words. Sam glared, but Dean laughed. 

“Been there, done that wolfy. Learned a few things on the way.” The nonchalant way he said that was clearly a threat, and Derek and Peter cringed. “Here’s a tip.” Dean continued. “Next time, someone tells you not to do something stupid, don’t then immediately do something stupid. Attacking an enemy you know nothing about? Stupid. You try anything like that on my brother again,” his voice suddenly dropped to a menacing growl, “and you are dead before you hit the ground. Understand?” 

Isaac nodded, clearly terrified. Peter and Derek glared at Dean, but made no move. Scott stepped forward and put his arm around the shaking beta. 

Satisfied, Dean turned to Stiles. “Well man, your move.” Stiles nodded slowly, thinking. Finally he clapped his hands together and looked at his very confused pack. 

“Okay” he said. “We’ve got a lot to talk about. I’ll explain everything later. I promise.” he said sincerely, seeing how Scott looked at him. “But for the moment,” Stiles walked over to his brothers and clapped them on the shoulders, “Let’s go bury a body!”


	4. Tension

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part three of my five-chapter-upload apology. I wasn't joking. In this chapter, we find out a little more about Stiles' relationship with the Winchesters. In the next chapter, we find out how the pack reacts.

Ch. 4 

Tension

If circumstances were slightly different, Stiles would be laughing out loud at the tension. Circumstances were not ideal, however, and between his glowering brothers, the grave he was digging, and his whispering pack behind him, the tension was almost suffocating. Stiles had long since given up trying to hear what his pack was saying, and instead focused on the task at hand. This meant, however, talking to his brothers. They were not happy. 

Dean grunted as he threw another shovelful of dirt away. The grave was almost dug. “Stiles, man, how could you be so stupid?” he all but yelled. Stiles gestured frantically to say that the werewolves were listening, but Dean didn’t care. “You find out it’s a demon, YOU CALL US! Do you know how dangerous they are? Do you know how many times Sam and I have died because of those S.O.Bs? Cause I don’t. Lost count. The point is you call us and we handle it. Not call us and give us no information but a GUNSHOT on the other side of a WALL! With the COLT! Which you STOLE, by the way!” The werewolves flinched at Dean’s ever-increasing volume.

Stiles shrunk down in his grave. He was right. What had he been thinking? He didn’t deserve Sam coming to his rescue. 

“C’mon, Dean, give the kid a break” Sam said exasperatedly, too used to pulling a rabid Dean off his little brother. “He did handle it, stolen Colt or not.” Stiles opened his mouth to speak but Sam shot him a look saying they would talk about it later. “I’m sure he’s well aware of the danger, Dean. I mean, he’s been trained by the best. He won’t be another Adam.” This seemed to anger Dean instead of placating him. 

“Don’t even bring up Adam!” Dean roared. Stiles agreed with Dean. Adam’s fate could have easily been his own, had the Winchesters not found him when he was 2 instead of 19. He remembered hearing about him, finding and losing a brother in one phone call. Before that, Dean had been adverse to Stiles’ training. After that, he had been adamant, even training him himself. Lost in thought, it took a minute for Stiles to realize that Dean was glaring at him. 

“What?” he said, tossing another shovel-full of dirt over his shoulder. 

Dean’s growl could rival Derek’s. Now there’s something you don’t think every day. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?” Sam looked even more annoyed than he already was and kept digging. Stiles, meanwhile, put his shovel down. 

“Yeah, I do actually. First of all, I didn’t steal the Colt. You gave it to me during a hunt. I didn’t give it back because you never asked for it.” Dean looked a little sheepish but so did Stiles. As excuses go, it wasn’t the best. Nevertheless he continued. “Secondly, I had the situation completely under control. I figured out what we were dealing with right away. The only thing I didn’t anticipate was my pack’s reluctance to listen to me! And I couldn’t make a move without them without blowing my cover! I got them to cooperate finally” This last part was directed at the pack who stood listening. “But you’re partially right. By the time they did it was too late. It was yesterday. So I orchestrated the showdown and I called you guys. I packed the Colt and I made sure the demon took me as a hostage.” What Stiles didn’t say was how terrified he had been. Most of it had been for show, for the demon’s and werewolves’ benefit, but part of him had been so scared even after he had pulled the trigger. It was the most fear-inducing week of his life, and only when his brothers had walked into the loft had he finally felt safe. 

Sam spoke again. “Why didn’t you call us sooner, Stiles? Why wait when you knew the risk?” 

Stiles thought for a moment. The scariest part of last week had been his ability to do nothing. When the danger first arose the pack watched him like a hawk, and he had felt so trapped, so disconnected from what he truly was. However... “I couldn’t be sure. The first time I told you about the werewolves you were ready to come murder them all! How could I be sure that you wouldn’t ice my friends after icing the demon! I didn’t blow my cover until it was absolutely necessary!” 

Sam nodded. “Fair point. However, 20 deaths? 1,000 deals? Isn’t that enough to blow your cover?” Seeing Stiles hunch down even further, he hastily added “Look I’m sure whatever you thought at the time was completely rational. And you’re in luck. The demon was rouge. He was the only one holding the contracts, so they all broke when you killed him. Nice shot, by the way.” Sam said the last part with a lighter tone in an attempt to cheer the kid up. 

“Yep, kid’s first ganked demon.” said Dean, looking a little less angry himself. “We need to go drinking. However,” and all of the sudden Dean’s face was cold again, “that’s still 20 deaths. And all for our cover? Explain, man.” 

“Look around guys!” Stiles started gesturing frantically. “My cover just got blown! Look at what happened! Peter and Derek looked ready to kill you! I had to stand in front of my own pack with MY HANDS IN THE AIR! All because of my last name! Chris had a gun trained on me! I’ll be lucky if they trust me again! A full out war almost broke out, and all because you walked in the door. Hell, Sam, you almost killed Isaac!” 

Dean looked offended, if very amused. “Hey look, Sam was just trying to scare the kid. I almost killed Isaac. And he deserved it too. Charging an enemy you know nothing about? Take it from someone who knows: stupid move.” 

“Yeah,” Stiles agreed, “It was.” All of the sudden the Winchesters couldn’t take the tension anymore and they burst out laughing. 

After the body was unceremoniously thrown into it’s grave, Stiles and Sam were putting the finishing touches on the dirt pile. When Dean wasn’t looking, Sam leaned over to Stiles and said “You know, I get why you did it.” Stiles’ eyes widened in surprise. He had not been expecting that. 

“Really?” he whispered. There really wasn’t a point in whispering, what with the pack able to hear him no matter what. Dean was too focused on re-packing his trunk to pay attention to the conversation. But Stiles felt like Sam had trouble talking behind his brother's back like this, and decided that whispering would be more respectful. 

“Yeah,” Sam continued. “Look, there was a time when I would trust Dean with my life so surely that it kind of scared me. That’s gone now. It broke a little when I went to college, but it shattered after the first demon deal. I still trust him with my life, I mean, he’s my brother, but now not so blindly. When he asks me to trust him about something, I have to think about who it’s benefiting. You grew up with us, Stiles, but you never fell into the blind trust I did. I think that’s a good thing. You can see both sides of the situation and you can see why having your hot-blooded demon hunter of a brother drive through town would be a bad idea.”Stiles blushed at Sam’s praise. They smiled at eachother before Dean sauntered over to collect their shovels. 

“Chick flick moment over?” Stiles blushed again but if Dean saw he dismissed it. “Good. moving on. What do we do now?” 

“What do you mean? Aren’t you guys going to hit the road? Not that I don’t want you to stay,” Stiles said, hurrying the last part. He didn’t want his brothers to feel unwelcome in Beacon Hills. Well, maybe a bit late for that. 

Dean continued. “Kid, as much as I wish this was any other case, it’s not. It’s you. Normally we can just let rock music play and the screen fade to black, but I think we need to stick around. Too often we leave towns in much worse shape than we found them. That can’t happen to you” 

Stiles was confused. “Look, if you’re worried about the demon having backup-” 

Sam interrupted him. “No Stiles. We’re worried about you. You’re a hunter, you always have been, only now your werewolf friends know it. You were right when you said they may not trust you again.” Stiles looked downcast. 

“Plus soon, the whole supernatural world will know it, too” Dean interjected. “And not just another hunter. No, they’ll know you’re a Winchester.” 

“The only people who have heard me acknowledge my last name are in this graveyard.” Stiles said softly. “Dead and alive.” Dean looked at him in what Stiles supposed was an attempt at sympathy. 

“Stiles, man, shooting a demon in the face with the Colt is kinda our signature move.” Dean said bluntly. Nevertheless, he smiled, and the little remaining tension dissolved completely. “And speaking of hearing,” Dean continued, a dangerous level of mischief creeping into his voice, “Sammy, should you tell him or should I?” 

“Tell me what?” demanded Stiles, obviously not alarmed by the light tone of voice, but curious all the same. 

“Well you know what’s interesting,” said Sam, grinning mischievously, his eyes sparkling, “Is that when you mix together wolfsbane and mountain ash, and spread it’s powder in a circle around you...” he trailed off. 

“Yeah?” Stiles said eagerly. 

“Werewolves can’t hear you.” Stiles grinned, his face matching his two brothers. He brought them in for a hug. They grimaced and squirmed but Stiles laughed. 

“Thanks guys” he whispered, this time so he wouldn’t burst into tears. 

Dean looked confused, but patted Stils on the back. “For what, man? This certainly won’t help them trust you.” Stiles shrugged. 

“Well no, but I’ve been waiting so long to talk to you guys. No werewolves hearing, no angles, no demons chasing us, just me and you guys. And now I got it.” Stiles eyes shone as he smiled genuinely. Sam looked a little tearful too, but Dean elbowed him. Stiles straightened, and he was all business as he turned to talk over to the wolves. “I’ll tell the wolves. I need to tell them. All they know right now is that I’ve got cold-blooded killers for relatives.” Sam nodded. 

“Ok Stiles, but when you’re ready. Don’t rush. Once you give up an illusion, you can’t get it back.” 

Stiles nodded sadly. “It’s already gone.” He walked away from his brothers, and imagined stepping over the wolfsbane-mountain ash line. He saw his pack stiffen. And there it was again. Tension.


	5. Rumor Has It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another chapter, this time the same incident as chapter 4, but from the pack's (rather limited) point of view. Here, the pack finds out more about the Winchesters, and can't help but feel uneasy. Next chapter, they put their fears into action.

Ch. 5 

Rumor Has It

Scott had never seen Isaac look so agitated. He marveled at how his normally level-headed beta was, for lack of a better word, a nervous wreck. Shifting from foot to foot rapidly, the boy in question was standing next to Scott and the rest of the pack, legs and hands shaking. 

“I can’t hear them!” Isaac whined. “I don’t understand! They aren’t even far away!” Scott patted Isaac’s shoulder comfortably. He felt bad for the poor guy. It had been a little jarring for them, so dependent on their werewolf hearing, to discover that they could not make out a single word Stiles and his relatives were saying, and they couldn’t be more than 50 feet away. Sure, they could make out the three different voices, -Scott would know Stiles’ anywhere-, and they could make out changes in volume, but no words. They had no idea what was happening, which, Chris would not stop pointing out, put them at a huge disadvantage. Scott, however, refused to believe that anything Stiles was saying could in anyway be dangerous to him, so instead he focused his attention on Isaac. He was still in shock from his brief confrontation with Sam and Dean Winchester. 

“Isaac, man, what were you thinking?” Scott asked his friend, his voice heavy with concern. Isaac merely sighed. 

“I dunno Scott. I don’t really have an explanation.” In truth, Isaac had been in shock. The demon had scared him, Stiles had scared him, even Stiles’ gun had scared him. Sure, he was repulsed by the blood and brain matter, but the fear had been worse. Isaac hated being afraid. He hated how weak it made him feel. The situation in the loft had been too much, the hate and the fear and the self-revulsion. He probably would have wolfed out right there if two humans hadn’t walked through the door. Instead, he did something much worse. He attacked. And now Isaac Lahey was back right where he started. Afraid. 

In retrospect, Isaac could barely remember the attack. It had been another part of him that leaped, but he had fallen. One second he was in the air and the next... He had been so sure he was going to get shot. He supposed to an outsider, it would have looked like Sam was the bigger threat. It was his gun aimed at Isaac’s head, after all. But Isaac had looked at Dean and knew he had made a grave mistake. Hunters look after their kin more fiercely than werewolves. 

Don’t get him wrong, Sam was also terrifying. There was something about him that wasn’t quite.... human. But, Isaac supposed, that was why the Winchesters were so scary. The way they stood, the way their faces could be so cold, they couldn’t be human. But, impossibly so, the were. 

Isaac was jolted out of his train of thought by Scott nudging him. He glared, then looked up to find everyone looking at him. “What?” he hissed venomously, still incredibly on edge. 

Derek faced him with his hands up. “I was just asking if you were ok. Obviously, you are not.” Then, with his usual level of heartbreaking sympathy, Derek turned to the rest of the pack, now standing in a tight circle. “Doesn’t matter. What matters is this: Why can’t we hear them?” Derek gestured wildly to the oddly horrific scene of Stiles digging a grave with two killers. Derek had directed his question at Chris, and as they looked at eachother fear passed through their eyes. It was almost tangible. Isaac couldn’t tell if they were afraid for Stiles or afraid of the Winchesters. Probably the latter. he thought. I guess I’m not alone. The thought actually made him feel better. 

Meanwhile, Chris fidgeted with his hands as he replied to Derek. “I don’t know. I heard somewhere that mixing mountain ash and wolfsbane could incapacitate a werewolf's senses, but I’ve never heard of it doing this. They must have spread it around themselves in a circle. But wouldn’t we have seen them do that?” The pack looked stupefied as they tried to think. Isaac, however, put his brain into overdrive. all of the sudden it came to him. 

“They put it on the shovels!” Isaac didn’t realize he had said that out loud until he found the whole pack looking at them. He hastily continued. “Guys, think about it. Mountain ash automatically spreads itself into a circle, right? Theoretically it should do the same regardless of wolfsbane. They’re digging a grave. How were we supposed to know what was flying dirt, and what was mountain ash?” The pack started to consider this, before Scott spoke up. 

“Isaac, you’re right! But how did you think of it?” Isaac glowed at the praise, but shrugged passively. 

“I worked as a gravedigger, before I was turned, remember?” The pack nodded. “I’ve dug enough graves for a lifetime. I guess it just makes sense.” Isaac paused before he added, “It’s what I would have done.” He flinched, realizing what that met. How many graves had these men dug? He looked at them, even though he could not hear them, and saw how scarily comfortable with it they were. They were so orderly it looked rehearsed. It probably was, Isaac thought bitterly Hundreds of times. What bothered Isaac the most, though, was how easily Stiles fit into the choreography. How many times had he done this? 

Behind Isaac, Derek growled. “Okay so we know how we can’t hear them” he said menacingly, “how does that help us figure out what the hell they are saying???” The rest of the pack joined Isaac in looking at the Winchesters. At this point they could only see Stiles from the waist up, so deep was the grave. Suddenly a raised voice cut across the graveyard, and while they couldn’t make out the words, all werewolves flinched instinctively at the sudden change in volume. From the way the three grave-diggers were standing, Isaac guessed that the shout had come from Dean. The pack flinched again as it was followed by several more. 

Scott growled as he saw Stiles cower, but stopped as he saw Sam put an arm comfortably around Stiles’ shoulders. However he was still angry. “What are they saying?” he asked, kicking a nearby headstone. Chris cleared his throat. 

“Guys, remember, there are others here who aren’t werewolves. Others who have finely tuned hunting ears.” Chris said smugly. The pack whirled on him. 

“You could hear?” Scott asked hopefully. Chris nodded.

“I couldn’t hear anything.” said Allison glumly. Chris put a hand on his daughter’s shoulder. 

“It’s alright sweetie. You’re not there yet. But soon.” Allison brightened up. Chris looked back at the wolves. “I could only make out some of the shouting. Something about a call, or lack thereof, and the Colt, and a mention of stealing. Also a mention of a gunshot on a wall, which probably refers to the incident at the loft from their perspective.” The pack flinched again, recoiling at the memory of smoke and brain tissue. Chris continued. “Guys, this is bad. The Winchesters weren’t tracking the demon, like I originally thought. Stiles called them. It sounds like they’ve been keeping in touch. That’s probably how they knew to spread the ash,” Chris realized, almost afraid to continue. “They already knew what to expect. Stiles informed them about the pack.” Chris sighed. “Of all the hunters to be mixed up with, it had to be the Winchesters.” 

Derek and Peter nodded in understanding and Isaac wondered for the first time how odd it was that Peter had remained silent. It was so out of character. Meanwhile Isaac and the other teenagers continued to be confused. 

Finally Scott spoke up. “I’m confused.” Understatement, Isaac thought. Scott continued. “Stiles said his last name was Winchester. does that mean he’s related to them? And who exactly are the Winchesters? Derek, Peter, they’re human. And Chris, they’ve got to have at least 10 years less of hunting experience than you. And yet I’ve never seen the three of you look so afraid.” Chris sighed again before replying to Scott. 

“Look, Stiles obviously knows them. I have no idea how and I certainly don’t want to find out. He knows what they do. I’m really hoping that he said what he did back there to scare the demon. Stiles can’t be their brother. If he is then we are all dead.” Isaac snorted in indignation. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” he said. He looked at the adults and was frustrated with their blank looks. “C’mon,” He continued exasperatedly, “Someone that can scare demons with only their last name?” This time, Derek spoke up. 

“Isaac, you saw them in action for five seconds at the loft. Tell me you aren't terrified.” Isaac froze. 

“Fair point.” he said weakly. “But who are they? And what the hell is with that gun?” 

At last Peter spoke. “They’re the Winchesters,” he spat. As if that alone was an accurate explanation. “They’re hunters.” 

“No I got that!” Isaac said, a little annoyed. 

“Let me clarify, then,” said Peter, dangerousness creeping into his voice. “They’ve got to be the best hunters on the planet. Picture Kate, but a million times worse. The don’t mean to kill the innocent, but somehow the blood always ends up on their hands. You name it, they’ve killed it. Vampires, demons, werewolves....” Peter trailed off looking murderous. 

Isaac was a little alarmed, but nevertheless continued. “That’s another thing. How did Stiles kill that demon?” 

“It was the Colt,” said Chris, eyeing Peter warily. “The gun was made in 1805 by a famous hunter named Samuel Colt. Rumor is it can kill anything. Anyone keeping tabs on it knows that the Winchesters used it to kill a ruthless demon in 2007, and have had it since.” 

“Well,” said Scott quietly, “That means Stiles must be their brother, right? Why else would they have trusted him with the gun?” Chris shook his head. 

“Dean said he stole it.” Chris said, waving his hand impatiently. “Look that isn’t the point. I don’t think you guys fully appreciate who we’re dealing with here. That demon they killed was third in command next to Lilith and the devil himself. And they’ve killed hundreds of demons since. Before 2007 it was thought impossible to kill them, until the Winchesters. Now Lilith is dead too, and rumor has it they almost killed the devil. They tore down the infrastructure of hell. They’ve almost cleansed North America of ghosts. They’ve killed every kind of monster, including ones that shouldn’t even exist. They’d have no problem with a pack of teenage werewolves, which means the only reason you aren’t dead is because of that boy over there.” He raised his hand and pointed at Stiles. “You better hope they aren’t related, because if anything happens to him on our watch, heads will roll.” 

The pack took this in in silence. Then Allison spoke up. “What are they? The supernatural messiah?” 

Chris smiled weakly. “Funny you should say that. I don’t believe this one myself, but rumor has it they stopped the Judeo-Christian apocalypse.” 

The pack stared at Chris Argent with their mouths wide open. Then, behind them, a sound of laughter broke out. The pack turned to see the Winchesters and Stiles with their heads thrown back, laughing their heads off. Isaac had a feeling it was at his expense. The pack then watched the Winchesters unceremoniously toss the demon’s corpse into the grave. Dean went to his car parked nearby to put away his shovel, and Sam and Stiles began filling the grave with dirt. Isaac squinted to see Stiles’ face, and found him chillingly at ease. 

“Well,” said Scott, always the silence-breaker, “Whatever is true about them, they do have an awesome car.” The pack laughed and gazed at the spotless Chevy Impala. 

“That they do” Chris agreed. He seemed to ease up a bit, and so did Derek and Peter. Isaac, however, still had something bugging him. 

“Chris, what aren’t you telling us?” Scott shot him a warning look, but Isaac continued. “Something is off about them. The way they smelled, the way they acted. And when Sam and Dean had guns to my head, I could swear that in their eyes I saw-” 

“Hellfire.” Lydia finished. She had otherwise been silent, too shocked to do much but process. Isaac nodded. “I know what you mean. When I look at them, I can feel death.”

“Well,” Chris said, fidgeting a little more, “There’s another rumor I don’t believe.” 

“Oh, come on,” Peter drawled condescendingly. “You can’t know me and not accept it. It’s not like I’m an exception.” Isaac looked confused. “The rumor,” Peter said, turning to Isaac, “Is that they can’t die. That they have died before, but have been resurrected by demons and angels. That Dean went to hell to save his brother’s life, and that Sam ended the apocalypse by dragging himself down with Lucifer. Demons resurrected Sam when Dean traded his soul, and Angels saved Dean. And it keeps happening. I think the count on how many times they’ve died is a little off, but both boys have definitely been to hell and back.” 

“It’s just another rumor,” Chris started to say, but he was cut off. 

“No, it isn’t.” The pack whirled around to face the speaker, and were startled to find Stiles standing there. They were so wound up in their conversation that they had barely registered being able to hear his heartbeat again. Now he stood facing them, sheepish and unsure of himself. “Well,” he said, hyperaware of the defensive stances the wolves were taking, and Chris Argent’s twitch towards his gun, “looks like I have some explaining to do.”


	6. Trust Issues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last installment of my 5-part apology. I'm resisting the urge to post the whole story since I have it all written out. Needless to say, I'll update again soon. Here, we find out the whole story behind Stiles' unique lineage. I don't want anyone confused, so let me specify that the sheriff's name is John Stilinski, but we also have John Winchester. When Stiles says "Dad," he is referencing the sheriff. Also, I mess with the time lines. A lot. It will get confusing, especially since I shrink the Supernatural time line a lot, and I'm sorry. Enjoy!

Ch. 6. 

Trust Issues

It might have been a mistake to bring everyone back over to Derek’s loft. Granted, it was the only place they could all fit, but blood still stained the floor, and a metallic tang stank in the air. Stiles looked around nervously at everyone perched in their chairs. There were no bows drawn or claws extended or guns cocked or even glowing eyes, but everyone seemed way. too. tense. And all those high strung murderers and killers were looking at Stiles. Wonderful. 

Stiles gulped, wondering just how to give the demanded explanation. “So... “ he began, eyes scanning the room again, “It’s kind of a long story.” 

“Start from the beginning.” said Chris, sitting directly in front of Stiles. Stiles knew it was so the werewolf hunter could keep an eye on his brothers, flanked on either side of him. Sam was relaxed as he leaned back in his chair, but Dean was strung higher than a violin, his fingers tapping and his hands visibly itching for his gun. Stiles could not take the nervousness any longer, and he started the story. 

“Well, my mom came from a family of hunters. Not an old one like the Campbells, or the Argents,” He nodded at Chris, “But her great-aunt was killed by a Wendigo, and the family was drawn in ever since. Mom wanted out, so she went to school and cut ties with her family.” Sam flinched, and Stiles smiled apologetically. “Well, about 19 or so years ago, she met John Winchester. He was a new hunter still figuring everything out, and she was basically retired, so she helped him navigate the business. They dated for a couple months before he realized he wasn’t quite over his wife’s death,” another flinch, this time from Dean, “and she realized that she didn’t want anything more to do with the hunting life. They agreed to keep in touch, and Mom met Dad, John Stilinski, a couple weeks after that. She found out pretty soon she was pregnant, but Dad decided to raise me as his own son. Mom called John once Dad was okay with everything, and he was a part of my life every few weeks up until he disappeared a few years ago. They named me Stiles after Stilinski, something about covering my name and hiding in plain sight, I don’t really remember....” He trailed off and stared into space before a cleared throat (courtesy of Isaac) brought him back to reality. “Anyway, Mom made it clear not to get me involved in hunting. Then she and Dad found out about the Hale pack when I was two, and decided that it was a necessary evil.” 

“Wait a minute!” Scott said, jumping to his feet, “Your dad just learned about the supernatural like, two weeks ago!” Stiles shook his head. 

“No, he’s known ever since he married mom. How else do you think he came so close to solving all those cases. He knows pretty much everything the Winchesters do, only he wants to stay out of it. Can I continue?” Scott nodded. “Anyway, they decided to start training me. And John came by once a month. At first he taught me all about the lore, but by the time I was six I shot my first gun. I tagged along with Sam and Dean on my first hunt when I was 10 and not long after that, Mom died. All three of them came to the funeral.” The Winchester brothers nodded. “John first went missing immediately afterwards, but he trained me up until a week before. Dean kept training me while Sam was at college. Then I don’t hear from them for weeks. Then I find out John is dead. I’ll save you guys the emotional rollercoaster, but after that they stopped coming. Too painful. But they called me once a week and kept me informed about everything. The bank robberies, yellow eyes, vampires... And then I hear about Dean’s demon deal. They kept in touch, but one week they stopped calling and I figured what had happened. The day after I found out Dean was alive again, Scott, you were bitten. Sam helped me research, and we figured out what type of werewolf you were. Once I yelled at him for not calling me for four months, of course.” 

“I would have hated to hear that conversation” Lydia mumbled. Stiles laughed. 

“It was something along the lines of ‘dude, you got a girlfriend and you didn’t call me?’ Anyway if you know about the Hardy Boys here then you can figure out the rest. I juggled the Kanima, the Apocalypse, and the Darach all in less than a year and a half. Sam had never heard of a Kanima before this, by the way. Oh and Dean didn’t call me in the month where Sam was still in Hell. Thanks for that.” Dean shrugged. 

Stiles faced the pack again, more confidence in his gaze. “So I think that’s everything. Thoughts? Questions?” Too late he noticed the pack shifting uncomfortably, and the fervent glances they were giving each other. 

Scott cleared his throat. “Stiles, man.... That’s a lot of info. I can’t believe I’ve known you for so long and yet haven’t known about most of your life. It’s a lot to take in. I think the pack needs some time to think.” 

Derek interrupted. “No Stiles. What Scott means to say is that we can’t trust you anymore.” 

“Derek!” Scott snapped at him, but Stiles’ heart had already sunk. Sam was right. 

Meanwhile, Scott frantically tried to salvage the situation. 

“No, no Stiles that isn’t it! It’s just that you’re a hunter-” 

“I’m looking at a hunter, Scott, and I don’t see you throwing him out of the pack.” Stiles said fiercely as he locked eyes with Chris, who, to Stiles’ shock, did not look angry. More like he understood. Meanwhile, Scott winced. 

“We’re not throwing you out of the pack! And it took us months to trust Argent.” Stiles chuckled. 

“Well what about Allison?” Stiles whispered, fully conscious that the girl in question could hear. Instead of looking mad or hurt, however, she nodded in understanding. If she was on Stiles’ side, she was the only one. The wolves and Lydia glared at him for so low a blow, and for a second Stiles felt bad. Scott, meanwhile, gulped and Stiles knew he had him. “Scott, buddy, you found out she came from a family of hunters the day after you met her. And you decided to trust her. You’ve known me for seventeen years.” Stiles changed his voice from aggressive to pleading. “Scott, you’re my brother. I just told you everything. You shouldn’t need time to think about something like this. Will you please trust me?” Stiles looked at Scott’s eyes, saw him waver in confidence, and for a moment Stiles had hope. Then Scott looked at Derek. Derek shook his head. 

Stiles’ heart sunk further than physically possible as Scott’s face drained of any emotion. Stiles knew that expression. It was the delivering-bad-news face, because Scott could not for his life give bad news without attempting to cut off his emotions. 

“Stiles,” he said, and even though his voice was nearly monotone, it could not cover up the layer of pain underneath it. Whether he was the cause of it, Stiles did not know. “You’ve been honest with us today. More honest than I think you have been in your entire life.” Can’t argue with that, Stiles thought grimly. “So I’ll be honest with you.” Scott continued. “It isn’t because you’re a hunter. Or that you shot that demon, or even that you lied about it for all those years. Who here hasn’t made a career of lying to their loved ones? The truth is, Stiles, it’s-”

“It’s because you’re a Winchester.” Derek finished. Stiles could feel the waves of hate rolling off of him as he glared at Stiles’ brothers. The hunters in question, who had thus far been watching the scene unfold and communicating with glances to each other, jumped out of their seats. Dean started towards Derek, who was already out of his chair. Stiles hadn’t even noticed that he, Scott, and Derek had all stood up as the conversation had gotten more heated. Sam held Dean back, and whispered something to him along the lines of “You’re not helping.” Dean backed down, but instead walked over to Stiles, grabbed his arm, and pulled Siles out of the circle of chairs, ignoring Stiles’ squawk of protest. 

“I think we’re done here.” Dean said, glowering at every single pair of eyes except his own. The pack all shifted uncontrollably, except for Derek, who held his ground. Dean started pulling his little brother towards the door. Stiles resisted a little bit. He didn’t want to leave. Once he left it would be official, he would be out of the pack for good. Stiles looked over to the Argents, his eyes pleading. Chris looked avoided Stiles’ gaze, looking at the floor, as if he was pretending that the whole scene wasn’t happening. Allison, however, was looking at Stiles apologetically. She shook her head slightly. The look on her face seemed to say that she felt bad for Stiles, but wouldn’t risk her own standing in the pack to help. A vat of anger welled up inside him at the thought, but deep down he understood. Allison didn’t know him as a hunter, didn’t know if he was as bad as the rest of her family, if he was worthy of her trust. And her relationship with the pack was tenuous already, after the stunt she pulled on Erica and Boyd last spring. Helping Stiles might get her kicked out too. And try as he might, Stiles was not the type drag anyone down with him. 

Stiles shut down his face as he felt tears begin to well up. The damn wolves were not going to see him cry. Dean, noticing Stiles had stopped struggling, eased his grip on the boy. Stiles threw Dean’s arm off of him and he and his brother began to walk swiftly towards the door. Sam made to follow but Scott threw his arm up. Sam stopped. Scott looked at Stiles, and though he was all business, he couldn’t look his best friend in the eye. 

“Look, nothing’s official yet. Contrary to what you said, we do need time to talk about this. We’ll talk it over. You’re not getting kicked out that easy.” Scott gave a weak smile that Stiles did not return. “However, I think that until we make up our minds you shouldn’t talk to any of us. Any of us, Stiles.” Stiles knew what Scott was saying. Don’t plead your case individually. Scott and Stiles both knew that talking to Scott would make him cave. 

“Fine.” said Stiles. And it was. He saw the logic in Scott’s ruling. He didn’t have to like it however, so it was with some malice that he added “You’re the Alpha.” 

Scott looked like a kicked puppy. Stiles found he didn’t care. Stiles looked at his pack, with their treacherous distrusting expressions, one last time before he turned on his heel and stormed out the door, his brothers at his side.


	7. A Mater of Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another chapter! So, in this chapter, Stiles finds an unlikely ally and reveals his experience with his brothers. Also it gets kind of meta. Enjoy!

Ch. 7  

A Matter of Time

Stiles could murder someone. Like he could actually hold down someone and shoot them. He grimaced.  Okay maybe not shoot them. That’s what got me into this mess in the first place.  It was no surprise, however, that his brothers weren’t talking to him. Instead, they eyed him warily and had a wordless conversation over his head. Stiles didn’t care.  They had passed Peter on their way outside, who of course had heard the whole thing but did not want to be in the same room as five werewolves and five hunters. Dean tossed Sam the keys to the Impala, Stiles got into his Jeep, and the two cars drove towards Stiles’ house. He and his dad had insisted the Winchesters stay with them, of course, and now the brothers were in the living room, all glancing awkwardly at each other. 

Sam looked very upset. “Stiles, we didn’t mean for this to happen. We didn’t think this would happen. I completely understand if you want us to drive away right now and never come back.” he said regretfully. Stiles waved his hand impatiently. 

“No,” Stiles sighed. “This would have happened eventually. It’s my fault anyway. I shot the bastard in front of my friends. I should have expected repercussions. And I’m glad you guys came. The shot I took was lucky. It could have been so much worse.” Sam still looked uneasy. "Guys, it's fine. It's not your fault. I should have told them sooner.” 

“Why didn’t you?” asked Sam. Stiles wouldn’t look Sam in the eye. Partially because of the overwhelming shame he was feeling, but mainly because he knew that Sam’s puppy dog face would make him break down. Forget the wolves. He would not cry in front of the damn Winchesters. 

“Sam, I think you could guess. Dean, I don’t expect you to understand. I guess I didn’t  because my friends were my tether to a normal life. I lied about my very existence, day after day after day. As long as they believed it, I believed it.” To Stiles’ surprise, both Sam and Dean nodded in understanding. 

“Well what’s done is done.” This came from Sam. Stiles nodded in understanding. It was done. In a terrible fashion. He stood up. 

“I’m going upstairs. You guys have a good night.” Sam and Dean both mumbled good night as well as Stiles trudged upstairs. He sat on his bed with his head in his hands. 

God, I’m so stupid.  he thought.  How could I think this wouldn’t happen? Dean said it never ended well when a hunter had a foot in each world. I guess my problem was my normal world turning supernatural. The pack will never speak to me again.  Stiles stopped himself right there. He would not think about the pack.   

No sooner had he thought that when there was a tap on the window. Stiles gave a yelp of surprise, then rushed over to open it. Was it Scott to overturn his ruling? Was it Derek to apologize? Was it Peter to kill him? Was it Isaac to talk to him like that one time that had kind of freaked him out? Stiles flung open the window and was both disappointed and relieved to see a pale face with dark curls blending into the sky. Allison.  

“Can I come in?” she asked. Stiles nodded and hastily stepped out from in front of the window. Allison crawled into the the room catlike, and Stiles took note of the black jeans, the black shirt and jacket, and the black fingerless gloves. She had almost certainly snuck out.  

“Let me guess” he said when she had straightened up to look at him, “Your dad didn’t want you to come see me.” She grinned mischievously.

“I have no idea. I left before I could ask.” Stiles laughed. He sat back down on his bed, and gestured for her to join him. The springs groaned as she plopped down beside him. 

“So....” he said. “Did Scott send you?” Allison looked confused. 

“What? No.” She said. “Besides, he issued the whole isolation thingy.” Stiles saw a little anger flash behind her eyes. 

“Right. The isolation thingy that you did nothing to prevent.” Stiles said. Allison’s face fell into a defensive stare. “It’s alright, I’m not mad. I know exactly why you did it. What I don’t know is why you’re here.” 

Allison gave him an easy smile. “Just cause Scott’s my ex doesn’t mean I agree with him about everything. Actually it kind of means the opposite. And it’s not everyday where you find out that your dorky friend you never payed attention to is just like you.” Realization hit Stiles. 

“You wanted to talk about being hunters.” Allison nodded. 

“It’s just... I wasn’t raised in the life like you were Stiles. I want to know what it’s like. And dad says that you guys hunt more than werewolves. I want to know what that’s like too. It’s weird, to look at you and realize that I don’t know you very well at all, not like I thought I did. Please tell me!” Stiles raised his eyebrows at her eager outburst. He sat frozen for a moment before he sighed in resignation. Allison’s grin grew wider. 

“What do you want to know?” he asked tentatively.

“Everything.”  

Stiles sighed again, but he was grinning too. 

“Alright, just a second.” He went out to the hallway, listening to see if his brothers had heard that they had company. Not that they wouldn’t welcome her. It just might be a little awkward. Stiles relaxed in hearing that his brothers were in deep conversation. About what, he wasn’t sure. He leapt back into his room  and found Allison sitting cross legged on the floor. He went and sat across from her. “Alright, let me tell you everything.” he began.  And he did. He told her about how it all started, about his training, about dealing with the fact that he had three (four if you count Bobby. And Stiles did count Bobby) parents. He told her about his brothers and his training with them, and upon realizing that his hunts were few and sparse, he told her about his brothers’. Stiles told Allison how the hunt for their father began, he told her about the woman in white, the wendigo, yellow eyes and the horrific plans for Sammy. Allison was a terrific audience. She gasped when he told her about the drowned boy, laughed at Missouri Moseley’s attitude towards Dean, cried at the death of his father. But Stiles didn’t stop there. He told Allison about the hospital, of his brothers realizing what their father had done. “They, John and Sam, were about to come get me. Then John made the deal.” Stiles said how he had been surprised instead to find Sam and Dean picking him up, and driving off with him to burn the body. “Neither of them talked much, but when I kicked myself for not being there, they told me to knock it off. They said that they wanted me to be safe and as normal as possible.” Allison nodded sympathetically, and Stiles was reminded of her mother’s death. She, like Stiles had blamed herself. And like, Stiles, she freaked out when she learned about the bank robbery in Madison. 

“I heard about it! I was like ‘a serial killer in St. Louis and a robbery in Wisconsin? What the hell?’ Obviously no cursing since I was 12.” She exclaimed. 

“I freaked because now both my brothers were being investigated by the FBI. Lord knows Agent McCall is bad enough.” Stiles continued on. Allison shrieked when Stiles described Sam’s first death. She cried when he explained the demon deal. “After that, they decided to take me on my first hunt.” Stiles described the five hunts he went on that year, each spanning a weekend, from ghosts to Wendigos to more ghosts to Stiles’ first encounter with demons. “They scared the living crap out of me. And the whole time they were laughing, saying how Dean would burn in hell.”  Stiles described Ruby and Bela, though he never met either of them. “We hunted a ghost a couple days after Bela stole the colt, and they were pissed. I had never seen them so angry in my life. After we salted and burned the bones I suggested they hunt the leap year ghost. I’ve been told it didn’t go over too well.”  Stiles described the last time he had seen either of his brothers before Dean went to hell. “It was a vampire, just one, but when Dean took it’s head off he looked ecstatic. He said it would probably be the last good thing he did. My first hunt, he told me I had done a good job, which I had, burned the bones myself. My last, he said I would have made John proud. I hugged them goodbye that day three years ago, sure that they would save Dean. Then I get a text a few days later. It’s Sam and all it says is ‘He’s dead.’ I found out later that Lilith possessed Ruby’s meatsuit and tricked them. A hellhound attacked my brother and he was dragged to hell.” Allison leaned forward, hanging on to every word. Stiles, however, cruel person that he is, decided to make her wait.  

He sighed as he leaned back onto his floor. “Do you ever feel like our life is so surreal that it could be a movie?” Allison laughed. 

“Stiles, your life is so surreal, so crazy, that a movie wouldn’t be long enough.  It’d have to be a tv show.” They both chuckled. 

“What would we call it?” Stiles asked curiously. 

“Dunno. Wait, I remember when Scott was telling me about what really happened when we were trapped in the school, he was telling me about summoning the alpha. What was it you told him?” Allison asked. 

Stiles thought for a second. “‘Be a werewolf, not a teen wolf’?” 

“Yes!” Allison exclaimed. “That’s it! That’s what we would call it! Teen Wolf!” Stiles waved the idea away. 

“Nah, that’d be if it was about Scott. He doesn’t have a crazy enough life to get his own show.” Stiles said with a snort.

“Yeah, and I guess you don’t just deal with werewolves, do you?” Stiles shook his head. 

“Nope. I wish. I’d actually have time to do homework then. So then what should we call the show?” Allison looked thoughtful. 

“Well, you call your brothers demon hunters. But that’s not really true. You hunt everything supernatural. I know! We should call it Supernatural!” Beside Allison, Stiles roared with laughter. 

“Oh my god! That’s perfect! That’s what the books are called! The Carver Edlund books! Supernatural! And it’s so true! Oh my god that’s perfect.” Stiles was gasping for air. He wiped tears of laughter from his eyes next to a confused Allison. 

“Books?” She asked confusedly. 

“Oh yeah, I guess I haven’t gotten that far into the story. Wow, talk about a good transition.” Stiles went on to talk about what happened next. Dean rising from the dead. Pamela burning her eyes out. Dean’s new bffl.  

“Angels?” Allison asked incredulously. 

“Angles.” Stiles confirmed. “And it gets better.” He explained the seals, and Anna, and the real origin of Halloween. He paused. “It’s been, what, a year and a half since Scott got bit?” Allison nodded. “Well it was literally the day before when Dean was raised from hell. I didn’t hear about it until a week later, I mean when I did all that research with Sam he still thought his brother was dead, but then he kind of forgot to call me. I found out why, evil demon girlfriend, but still. Anyway they didn’t come take me on another hunt until they dealt with a ghost that turned out to be two neglected children. I didn’t mind, I mean I had Scott and Derek and Peter to deal with, but the neglected kids kind of reminded them of little ol’ neglected me.” Stiles went on to describe the next hunt he went on, a lamia, and what he heard later from his weekly phone calls to his brothers. Allison cried for Pamela and Adam. When she heard about the books, her eyes widened. 

“Your brothers are not only storybook character but biblical figures?” Her voice went so high she was practically shrieking. 

“Yep.” 

“Well are you in them?” Stiles tilted his head thoughtfully. 

“I don’t know. They won’t let me read them. Dean said something about being full frontal. Plus I hear the fan base is pretty rabid.” Allison nodded. “The titles of the books are hilarious, though. Like if Supernatural were actually a show, those book titles would be episode titles.” 

“But then it would be about Sam and Dean, not you.” 

“Yeah. Hey, I wonder what my rabid fan base would be like!” Stiles bounded up and down excitedly at the idea. 

“Oh, they would insist you are gay.” Allison said without missing a beat. 

“What?” Stiles said, his face crestfallen. “What makes you say that?”  

“Well Matt said you and Derek would make a cute couple when you were paralyzed. Fan girls tend to leap on that stuff. They would totally want you two to be a couple.” Allison said this like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Stiles shuddered. 

“Gross. Moving on. What happens next is a series of triple crossing and manipulations thanks to a couple of pain-in-the-ass angles and that bitch Ruby.” Stiles tells her about the beautiful room and the lie about Dean’s mission. He tells her about the horrible fights between Sam and Dean. Finally, he tells her about the beginning of the end. “Sam called me after receiving a voicemail from Dean. I figured it was a hoax, just another wedge used to drive the brothers apart. I tried to tell Sam but he didn’t listen. He said if he was a monster he had better start acting like one. He told me to never call him again.” There were tears in Allison’s eyes. “It was the demon blood, I knew it. I was like ‘this is why you don’t sell your freaking soul. This is why you don’t drink freaking demon blood.” I don’t know if you remember, but I wasn’t at school the next few days. I drove to Maryland, but by the time I got there the church grounds were scorched. This was the beginning of the apocalypse.”  

Allison looked at Stiles in disbelief. “Ok, how did we miss the apocalypse?” 

“Well we did have our hands full with the kanima. And the Alpha pack. And the Darach.” Stiles said, looking amused. 

“Fair point.” 

Stiles, noticing that the sun was beginning to rise, rushed through the Judeo-Christian apocalypse. He told Allison about the angels, the many that wanted his brothers dead, the vessels, the breakup, The End, even Gabriel. Allison sat shocked as she heard about the fall, his brothers’ sacrifice. 

“Wait a minute, your half-brother Adam was a vessel too, right?” Stiles nodded. “Why didn’t the angels come for you? It would surely be easier than raising the dead.” 

Stiles answered tentatively. “We still don’t know. Cas says they might not have known about me because I don’t see John as my father. Or I might not be a vessel. We’re not really sure.” Allison nodded. 

“What happened next?” She asked eagerly. 

“Sammy got raised a month later without his soul.” Stiles spun around to find the source of the voice and saw Dean leaning against the doorframe, bathed in the light of the sunrise. Mentally, Stiles kicked himself. He should have heard his brother open the door. 

Allison raised her eyebrows, clearly impressed with his subtle entry as well, given that she was facing the door. Stiles winced, expecting a Dean-sized rant on fraternizing with the enemy, but instead reached down and helped Stiles to his feet. Allison also stood up. 

“You know, it’s rude,” said Dean, mock-scolding Stiles, “to invite someone over and not give them anything to drink.” He looked at Allison. “Want to come down for some coffee?” 

“Sure.” Allison said casually, as if she had already not heard Dean’s entire life story. Together the three exited Stiles’ room. Stiles looked out the window before closing the door. The sun was definitely better from this view.  


	8. Hunters and Hunted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Here's another update! This chapter is kind of short so I'll probably just post the next one too. I'm nice like that. Also, there's a brief mention in here about the prequel I have written (and will publish) about Stiles and the characters from The Vampire Diaries. If you don't know the show and don't care to read it, don't worry, it's not very crucial to the plot. Thanks for all the awesome comments, and enjoy!

Ch. 8 

Hunters and Hunted

It was a little awkward. The four of them sat in Stiles’ living room, each holding a mug of coffee that Sam had brewed. Stiles and Allison were together on the couch, while Dean and Sam each sat in a chair opposite them. They both looked relaxed, but Stiles knew better. Between the Winchesters he counted 12 knives, 3 flasks of holy water, 6 bullet casings and 3 guns all on their persons. Allison had a collapsible bow and  few arrows, 3 knives, 2 ring daggers and one unloaded gun. She, too, appeared relaxed. Stiles wasn’t. He was jittery from the all nighter and jittery from the coffee and nervous of the thought of Dean killing him with his bare hands. Maybe Stiles was being paranoid but this was the first time he told someone The Secret. Granted, she already knew, but Stiles was sure Dean didn’t appreciate the intimate details, complete with criticism. No, Stiles had stepped over some kind of line. He was sure. ‘

Dean, to Stiles’ surprise, chuckled. Sam joined him. “Teen Wolf?” Dean said mockingly. “Really?” Stiles blanched. Allison turned red. 

“How long were you guys listening?” Stiles asked. Dean grinned. 

“Long enough. I mean we tuned some of it out, hearing your life story after living it can get pretty old, but we heard the good parts.” 

“But-how?” Stiles sputtered. “You couldn’t have been standing there the whole time, I mean I would have- I  think  I would have noticed.” This time Sam replied. 

“Stiles, you were practically  shouting.  I’m sure you got too caught up in the story to notice.” Sam smiled too, but there was a glaze of guilt in his eyes. With a sinking feeling Stiles realized that if Sam had heard everything, he had also heard Stiles blame him. Stiles groaned inwardly. That was going to be a nasty can of worms to open later. Sam shifted his glance to the right, and Stiles turned to see Allison look at the brothers in amazement. 

“Is it all true?” she asked, her voice very quiet. Bemused, Sam and Dean nodded. They then looked a little alarmed as Allison cackled. “That is so awesome!” she said. “You guys have totally beaten Peter. Coming back from the dead three times? Each? And fighting all those different kinds of creatures? It’s.... unbelievable.” She looked wistful, and Stiles worried that she was comparing herself to them. He need not have worried. She grinned and said “I bet you guys can’t shoot a bow and arrow.” Dean raised his hands in surrender. 

“You got me there. Hey, Stiles.” Stiles sat upright. “All those stories you told her. Did you get to the one about the vampires in Virginia?” Stiles shook his head. Allison glanced at him expectantly. 

“Mystic Falls.” Stiles cleared his throat before continuing. “It was Mystic Falls, Virginia. What had started out as a group of high schoolers turned into several vampires, a werewolf, a witch, and two vampire hunters who wouldn’t do anything.” 

“It was a mess.” Dean continued. “20 people dead per month, on average.  A string of ‘animal attack’ stories so B.S'd it would make this town look like honest reporting. The mayor was in on it, the sheriff too. It was their kids, see, and they were protecting them. Well we were all set to wipe them out before one of the hunters came and talked to us. His name was...  Jeremy?” Dean looked at Stiles for conformation, who nodded. “Couldn’t have been much older than Stiles is now. One of his friends had just been turned and he was worried his sister was next. Something about being caught between two vampires, I don’t really know. Anyway, we actually only ended up killing a few vamps. The werewolf was clean so we spared him. Their friend Elena was saved. Bonnie the witch was grateful, the hunters owe us a favor,  and Katherine gets to burn in purgatory. The twilight chick, Elena, was upset with us first but she came round. Realized we had saved her life. It was an interesting hunt.”  

“What was weird,” said Stiles, “was how much it reminds me of Beacon Hills.The same connections, the same creatures, the fact that they were all high school students. Even  number of killings was similar! That could have been us if we hadn’t gotten Peter under control.” 

“That could still be us.” Allison said coldly, glarng at Dean. “I see your point. You’re saying you’ve already wiped out a pack of teenagers, and aren’t afraid to do it again. You’re saying the only thing standing between us and death is Stiles.” 

Dean smirked threateningly, his kind pretense gone. “ No. I’m saying we  almost  wiped out a pack of teens before stopping and listening to others. I’m saying Sam and I are not unreasonable. However,” his eyes darkened. “I’m also saying that we have our bad days. There are times where reason won’t stop us. I’m saying you are damn lucky to have Stiles to have your backs. I’m saying that you shouldn’t  throw away the only thing standing between life and death.” 

Allison’s eyes narrowed and she reached into her jacket pocket for her knife. Stiles and Sam looked at eachother before jumping in to diffuse the tension. Stiles wrapped one arm around Allison's shoulders, holding her back, and used the other arm to slowly lower the hand clutching the knife. Sam shot a warning look at Dean before speaking. 

“What Dean is trying to say oh-so-tactfully is that we’re Stiles’ older brothers and we don’t like to see him getting bullied by his friends. You seem like a nice girl Allison. We’ve heard a lot about you and know what you can do. It seems like if anyone should know all sides of the story, it’s you.” Allison blinked in surprise before relaxing. Stiles squeezed her shoulder gently. 

“You want me to get Stiles back into the pack.” she said accusingly. Sam smiled knowingly. 

“You were already planning on doing that. That’s why you came to talk to him.” Allison’s face slipped into an easy grin. 

“Partially, but mainly I was curious. I only learned about hunting a year ago, and I only knew about my family. It all felt so small. I mean I wanted to know that-” 

“-You aren’t the only freak.” Finished Sam. “Believe me, I get it.” He smiled at her, and Allison could see why he was dangerous. It was hard to imagine a puppy like him as a psycho killer. Allison set her coffee mug down and stood up slowly, then walked over to the door. It was time to leave. Allison still had one more thing on her mind though, and as she opened the door she turned to look at Stiles. The poor guy looked exhausted, bags like bruises under his eyes, and Allison felt bad for keeping him up. Still.... 

“Stiles, when I was struggling with my family’s secrets, back when Scott was turned, you knew what was going on. Why didn’t you help me, or better yet tell me you were a hunter too?” The question caught Stiles off guard, and he fidgeted a little before answering.  

“I wanted to. I mean, I  really  wanted to. It was hard to see you struggle, and it would have been nice to not be alone. But I didn’t because they” he gestured at his siblings “told me not to, and for good reason. I didn’t know whether you could be trusted. I didn’t know much about the Argents, and what I heard had not been good. It was too much of a risk. I didn’t know whether you would kill Scott, much less me for being part of a death defying circus act. I wanted to later, but then the wolves would have known. I’m sorry.” 

“It’s ok.” said Allison sympathetically. She turned towards the open door, but not before hearing him again. 

“I was right you know.” he said jokingly. “You did go all dark side with Gerard.” A smile played on Allison’s lips. 

“Touche.” She walked over the threshold and closed the door behind her. Allison was still smiling as she heard the birds sing and felt the crisp morning air on her face. Her smile faded, however, when she found her dad leaning against his car in the driveway.   



	9. The Same Six Hours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I wasn't joking, I'm posting the next chapter right now. Also for some reason things won't stay italicized, so if the first person/third person thing gets confusing it's because the characters are thinking to themselves and it was supposed to be italicized. Sorry! Next chapter, things get all confrontational.

Ch. 9 

The Same Six Hours  

To say that her dad did not look happy would be the understatement of the century. Allison could not look him in the eye as she trudged over to the enormous red S.U.V. He opened the passenger door for her. Allison snuck a glance at her father and saw that instead of glaring at her, Chris was watching the Stilinski house apprehensively. He looked like he was worried the Winchesters would come barreling out any minute.  He doesn’t know what I know. And he doesn’t have the Winchesters’ trust,   Allison thought satisfactorly. Even though she was dreading the conversation that was sure to come, Allison smiled as she slipped into her dad’s car. It was nice to have an upper hand for a change.  

6 Hours Earlier 

Sam worriedly watched Stiles go up the stairs. When the adolescent disappeared, he glanced at Dean, and was relieved to see that he, too looked concerned. It was too often that Dean took serious situations like these too lightly. Sam pensively took a sip of the beer Stiles had provided him. (He didn’t want to know how Stiles knew where the beer was.) Upon hearing the door to Stiles’ room close, he turned to Dean, prepared to speak. Dean, however, beat him to it.    

“What should we do about Stiles?” Dean asked, and Sam was surprised to hear layers of worry in his voice. “The kid is not getting let back into that pack, no matter what that Scott kid promised. When hunters and werewolves agree on something you know it’s something bad. They’re insanely scared of us, which is super awesome-”  

“Yeah,” Sam laughed. “It’d be a nice change of pace, demons running from us.” 

“-but,” Dean continued, serious again, “It’s bad for Stiles. Our name tainted the poor kid. Personally I think we should just have him pack his things and high-tail it out of here.” 

“We can’t do that!” Exclaimed Sam. “Dean, the kid’s whole life is here. We yank him out and lug him around like cargo, and we’re no better than dad. He did that to us, and we aren’t exactly mentally sound!” Sam’s blood boiled at the thought of doing that to the poor kid, 17 years old be dammed. To Sam, it didn’t matter how old Stiles was. He was still his little brother.He would not treat Stiles like that.  

Dean raised his hands defensively. “Woah, man, take it easy. It’s not like I’m going to run upstairs and stuff the kid in a drawstring bag. The Sheriff would kill me, not to mention Stiles. I just think it’s a good idea. We’ll talk to him, but ultimately it will be his choice.” 

At this, Sam calmed down. Dean was right, they didn’t have many options. And Sam would be foolish for thinking that their next course of action would be anything other than Stiles’ choice. Dean, seeing that Sam was calm, relaxed into his chair and took a sip of beer. Sam mimicked him.  

“Wait a minute,” said Dean lightly.  “What do you mean we aren’t mentally sound, Sammy?” Sam chuckled. 

“Well what was it that Zachariah said not too long ago? We are ‘dangerously, erotically codependent on each other?’” Dean roared with laughter. 

“Man, it was a downright pleasure to stab the winged douche in the face. He was reading too many  Supernatural  books if he thought that.” 

Sam smiled. “I think Crowley got his hands on a stack.” Dean groaned, then froze. Sam’s grin faltered. Dean looked at Sam and tapped his ear. He had heard something. Sam scrunched up his face and concentrated. At first he thought Dean was being paranoid, (a month-long break from hunting will do that to you) but then he heard them. Voices coming from upstairs. Sam nodded at Dean and slowly stood up. He then carefully crept up the stairs, careful to avoid creaking floorboards. Once upstairs, Sam deduced that the voices were coming from Stiles’ room. He pressed his ear against the closed wooden door and listened.  

A few minutes later, Sam trudged down the stairs to a mildly uneasy Dean. “It’s all right.” Sam said immediately, taking note of Dean’s mood. “Stiles is talking to the hunter girl, Allison. She must have climbed in through his window.”  Dean relaxed. 

“Interesting.” said Dean, turning over his now-empty beer bottle in his hands. “Maybe there’s hope for the kid after all. If one person is on his side there’s got to be more right?” 

Sam shrugged. “She’s the only other human, Dean. It might not be that simple.” 

“But it’s a start. What were they talking about, anyway?” Sam smirked. Dean would love this. 

“Us.” Dean looked confused, and Sam reviled in it. “Stiles was telling Allison about our adventures, with and without him.” 

“Good god why?” Dean asked. “Our lives can’t be that interesting. We don’t live with the things we hunt.” Sam sighed. Dean had zero understanding of people. 

“I dunno, Dean. She only found out she was a hunter like a year ago, right? Maybe she wants to know what else is out there. Anyway I left when Stiles started talking about the books. I don’t want to go through that twice in one evening.” Dean groaned again. 

‘Glad to know that Stiles’ friends have death wishes. I swear if any of those smug little werewolves even mentions them around me I’ll-” 

“- Anyway ,”  Sam cut off Dean before he could finish what promised to be a horrific sentence, “Maybe we should talk about something else. All we can do about Stiles is wait.” 

Dean agreed. “Ok, what should we talk about?” 

“Cas.” Sam said. Dean’s face fell.  

“No Sammy, not right now.” Dean suddenly looked exhausted. 

“Dean, we’re going to have to talk about him eventually!” Sam said, his voice raised. 

“Well what is there to talk about?” Dean’s voice escalated as well. “Look, Sam, I know. I know what you’re going to say and it’s true. I know Cas has been acting shady as hell since you got your soul back, and he’s gone for days on end at times, and when we told him we were coming here he goddamn  flinched  when we mentioned Crowley. I know that you don’t trust him anymore, but if you’ll allow me to deal with  one freaking problem at a time-”   The front door began to open and the boys spun around to see a very tired Sheriff Stilinski step into the house. 

“Evenin boys” he said. If he looked surprised to see the Winchesters standing in his living room, he didn’t show it. “Am I interrupting something?” 

“No sir.” said Dean curtly, and he and Sam frantically composed themselves. The sheriff hung up his coat by the door, then walked over to the boys. 

“It’s good to see you.” he said, giving Sam and Dean each a hug. “It’s been a while.” 

“Yeah, it has.” Sam agreed. John Stilinski patted Sam on the back then looked around the room. He sighed when he saw the beer bottles.

“Man, I need to hide these better if Stiles keeps finding them. Speaking of which,” he said, noticing for the first time said Winchester’s absence, “where is my boy?” 

“He’s upstairs. He’s fine.” said Sam hurriedly, not wanting to alarm John or tell about Stiles’ current guest. 

The sheriff sighed in relief. “Good. I appreciate you boys calling on your way back over here. Poor kid, must be exhausted.” 

Dean chuckled. “Yeah, well, Shooting a demon, burying a body and getting kicked out of a pack all in-” he glanced at his watch and saw that it was 2:00 a.m. “-six hours will do that to you. But I gotta say, sheriff, you look much worse.” 

“Yeah,” John Stilinski said sounding, if possible, even more exhausted. He had heavy bag around his eyes and seemed to radiate sleep deprivation. Sam hoped he would never be that tired. “ A demon killing spree will do that. Plus, we’re still cleaning up after the Darach. It’s hard to get the force to cooperate when none of them know the whole story. But you two would know that, right? With all of the running from law enforcement you two seem to do.” 

Sam and Dean grinned abashedly. John guffawed. “Relax, boys. Turning you two in would be the last thing I ever did. Stiles would make sure of that. I’m just  glad that demon is gone for good. It is, isn’t it?” Seeing Dean nod, the Sheriff proceeded to head upstairs. “Good. Well, I deserve a good night’s sleep, not that I’m going to get one. I’ll see you two in the morning.” 

Sam and Dean mumbled their good nights and watched as Sheriff Stilinski disappeared from view. Sam turned towards Dean. “We should sleep too, you know.” 

“Maybe.” Dean mumbled, sounding almost as exhausted as the Sheriff. He sat back down in his chair and dozed off. Sam, however, didn’t. Maybe it was a lingering side effect from his soulless self, but Sam did not feel the need to sleep. Instead, he sat in the night, pondering their current situation. He was so focused that when the time came around it took him a moment to register that day was breaking. Sam glanced at his watch. 7:00 a.m. Stiles had been talking to Allison for six hours. 

Deciding it was time for everyone to get up, Sam stood up and stretched before walking over to his sleeping brother. “Hey, Dean,” he said softly, not wanting a gun at his throat. Sam poked his brother in the shoulder. “Dean. Wake up.” 

“S’problem, Sammy?” Dean said, voice heavily laden with sleep. Sam wished he could film him. 

“I think we should have Allison leave before her father notices she’s missing.” Dean sat upright suddenly, all traces of tiredness gone. 

“She’s still here?” Dean asked disbelievingly.  

“Yeah,” said Sam, “but I think I know how help Stiles. Or at least send the pack a message.” 

“How?” Dean asked quizzically. “You said it yourself. She isn’t here for the pack, and even if she were I highly doubt she would play messenger.” 

“No, I know. I’m thinking we tell her something she’ll want to report. She came here for a story, let’s give her one.” Dean narrowed his eyes.

“You're thinking Mystic Falls.” He stated. Sam nodded. 

“I’m thinking Mystic Falls.” Dean grinned mischievously, and it was scary how much he resembled Stiles in that moment. 

“Sammy, you are a genius.” Dean proceeded to get up slowly, letting his joints pop. Sam grimaced. “You know,” Dean added after a minute, “I hated that hunt. Too much diplomacy. I still think we should have killed more than just three vampires.” 

Sam scoffed. “Leave that part out of the story when you tell it.” Sam and Dean smiled at each other then made their way upstairs, turning off the living room light in anticipation of the coming sunrise.  

Scott glared at the ceiling. It was unfair for him to be awake at this time of night, it really was. The events of today were rolling around in his mind, and he had nothing to do but think. Had it really only been 24 hours ago that he had been worried about a demon killing him? Now he was worried about Stiles killing him. Scott cursed whoever in the universe had decided to play this cruel joke on him. He was supposed to protect Stiles. Now it turns out that not only can Stiles protect himself, but he’s also a hunter.  Another hunter.  Scott thought sardonically.  I must have the worst luck in the world.  Why did all the people close to Scott turn out to be programmed to kill him? Scott rolled over to look at the clock on his nightstand. The red light provided an angry contrast to his pitch-black bedroom. He groaned when he saw the time. 1:00 A.M. It would probably be another six hours until the sun rose. Had it really been only 5 hours since Stiles committed demoncide? Had it only been four and a half since Stiles buried a body in the last remaining light of the sunset? Four since Scott was forced to be so cruel? To kick Stiles out? Scott felt as though the darkness in his bedroom was suffocating him. It was his fault. he didn’t have to listen to Derek. He didn’t have to let the prejudice of the Winchesters pass on to him. Stiles had looked so angry when he had left. So hurt-. Scott stopped himself. Thinking about the last- he glanced at the clock again- six hours would amount to nothing. What was done was done. Even if the image of Stiles shooting the Colt was seared into Scott’s mind, Scott would try to ignore it. Even if the real reason he wasn’t sleeping was to avoid horrific dreams of blood and demons and Stiles rising from the dead. 

Stop it.  Scott mentally kicked himself. Just because his brothers did that doesn’t mean Stiles had done it. He would have known. Even after everything, Stiles was still his best friend. And damn him if he was going to let Derek and Peter and their stupid fears get in the way. Yes, Stiles had super freaking scary brothers. And they probably wanted to kill him. But that didn’t matter. First thing in the morning, Scott would get Stiles back into the pack. Yes, Stiles was a hunter, but surely there was room for one more. Surely he would still want to be in the pack. No way would he abandon Scott for his two freakishly tall brothers. Right? Blood was thicker than water but pack was thicker than blood. No, Scott was positive Stiles would want to rejoin the pack. 

Although...  One thought teased the back of Scott’s mind. He had learned a lot today, and if there was one thing that stood out, it was that the Winchesters were big about family. Like, sell-your-soul-to-bring-your-brother-back big. Would they let him... No, Stiles could make that decision for himself. If he didn’t want to kill Scott. Or maybe the Winchesters would kill him first. 

Scott’s mind swam in circles for several hours, so that when the sun finally broke through the horizon he was more unsure of the world around him than ever before.     



	10. Pride and Prejudice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Here's another chapter. So I know a lot of you were super mad at the pack after they kicked Stiles out... hopefully that will change. Though feel free to keep hating Peter. Anyway, enjoy!

Ch. 10  

Pride and Prejudice 

“Sneaking out? Keeping secrets? Talking to the enemy? I really wish this was the first time we’ve had this conversation, Allison.” Allison rolled her eyes. Yes, she had been worried about her father’s reaction, but in the car ride home she had realized that her father couldn’t do anything. Not when there was a threat like the Winchesters, and whatever was on their heels. During her conversation with Stiles Allison had begun to realize that the infamous brothers didn’t cause trouble. They were trouble. And if they were here, more bad things would be on the way. Not that her dad needed to know that. 

“Allison! Are you even listening to me?!”  

Rudely shocked out of her thoughts, Allison replied somewhat scathingly “Yes. I’m listening. The Winchesters are dangerous. Stay away from them. You’re grounded- or you will be if I can figure out how you keep sneaking out.” Chris sighed. 

“More or less, I guess. I’m not mad, Allison.” Allison scoffed. “Really, I’m not. I’m just worried. I trusted Stiles a lot. I thought it was good for you to not be the only human in the pack. Turns out he was hiding a 16 year secret and we were as clueless as a couple of deer. I needed time to process that and you sneaking out didn’t help.” All of the sudden Chris looked very tired. Allison began to feel bad. He was right. Allison acted foolishly. Dean Winchester himself had said yesterday-was it really only yesterday- to never attack an enemy you know nothing about. While she hadn’t been going to attack, it was the same type of foolishness. So was keeping valuable information from her father out of spite. 

“He’s still the same, Dad. He’s still Stiles.  He was actually pretty happy to see me.” Chris relaxed upon hearing this and Allison smiled. Her dad had enough stress in his life. She didn’t want to be responsible for any of it. 

“And the Winchesters? How were they?” Allison’s grin faltered. Telling her dad what they had said would be a very delicate process. 

“Um..... They were nice?” 

“Are you asking? Allison, what did they say to you?” 

“They made it very clear that they are here to protect Stiles. They seem to respect other hunters, up to a certain point. They aren’t planning on going on a mass murder spree, but,” Allison gulped and prayed her father would understand, “they told me this story about this town called Mystic Falls, and how it was a pack of teenage-” 

“Vampires. I’ve heard of them. I didn’t know it was the Winchesters who took them out but it doesn’t surprise me.” Allison relaxed when she saw how not-freaked-out he looked, but still felt the need to protect Stiles. 

“They weren’t threatening me, Dad, more like just making it clear that should circumstances change-” To her surprise, Chris started laughing. 

“Allison, sweetheart, that is the oldest trick in the hunter book. But,” and Allison swore her father looked almost impressed, “ I didn’t expect them to be that smart. Drawing parallels like that. It’s very-” 

“Humanizing?” Chris nodded. “Dad, I don’t think we need to worry about them. Besides threatening the existence of the pack, well, they were very nice.”  Allison admitted, somewhat ashamedly. “They would do anything for their family, and we would be lying if we said we weren’t the same.” 

“Their definition of ‘everything’ is drastically different than ours.” Chris mumbled, but nevertheless he conceided. “But Stiles can be trusted, even with his brothers on edge about him being in a werewolf pack?”  

Allison smiled. “I don’t think that’s the problem. Stiles kind of gave me the whole Winchester story.” Chris looked taken aback. “I’ll explain later, Dad. But by the sound of it, having a problem with Stiles’ friends would be  majorly  hypocritical. Actually, I believe what they said was something along the lines of ‘we don’t want our brother bullied.’” Now Chris looked majorly taken aback. 

“Their whole life story? In six hours?” Allison shrugged. 

“‘Know thy enemy”, right?” Chris raised his eyebrows. “What?” Allison asked indignantly. 

“I thought they aren’t our enemies.” Chris said. Allison rushed to explain herself.

“No Dad, of course not. I mean, yeah, it helps, but- Stiles told me a lot about other creatures. And how to fight them. I just- I-” Allison looked helpless as she revealed the real reason for her visit with the Winchesters.

“You wanted to know more about hunting.” Allison nodded. Chris sighed. Instead of being mad, he looked weary again. “Why didn’t you just ask me?”

“I didn’t think you would tell me anything.” Allison replied, very quietly. “And I didn’t think you’d know. Half the stuff Stiles told me about, well, I’d never even seen in the bestiary. Please don’t be mad.” Chris smiled at his daughter.

“I’m not mad, honey, but I never wanted this life for you in the first place. I should have known eventually you’d branch out to satisfy your curiosity. Honestly, I’m glad. You learned from the best.” Upon hearing her father’s approval, Allison positively beamed. “However, it will be dangerous to have them in town too long. Trouble practically seems to follow them.” Allison decided it was best to not disagree. “If they are still sticking around because of Stiles, then we need to help.” Allison nodded.

“We need to get him back in the pack.” she said. She and Chris began planning. It shouldn’t be too hard, right? 

It was almost noon by the time the pack met back up again, this time outside of the old Hale house. The Autumn air was a little chilly for an outside meeting, but Stiles suspected the real reason to the location was to keep the damage of property to a minimum. Just in case, let’s say, a fight broke out. Not wanting to release his imagination on worst case scenarios, Stiles instead thought about the morning he had spent with his brothers, talking about stories they hadn’t yet had time to relieve over the phone. Stiles had given his brothers grief for not taking him with on a hunt against DRAGONS of all things, but to be fair he had been rather tied up (literally) with a killer English teacher. Still, dragons. Kind of awesome. Stiles pulled up to the Hale house in his jeep, his brothers right behind him, and took in the people waiting for him, or rather the lack thereof. He was first. Unusual, given he was always late for things like this, but not unexpected. Stiles would not be surprised if the pack did not show up at all for this meeting, and would be even less surprised if he never saw any of them again. With a sigh, Stiles exited his jeep, and heard two telltale clunks as his brothers left the impala.  

“Bit of a ghost town isn’t it?” Sam commented as he gazed up at the burnt house apprehensively. Stiles supposed that anyone would be creeped out by the house the first time they saw it. With it’s broken windows, it’s ashen gray boards, the fact that the back half was missing and the scorched trees around it, it more than spooked Stiles. 

Dean whistled. “This was some fire. I don’t think our house even looked this bad, and that fire was downright demonic.” Although Dean said this jokingly, there was a faint look of hurt in his eyes. His mother’s death still haunted him to this day. 

Wishing to lighten the mood, Stiles said “You know, if this whole diplomacy thing doesn’t pan out, you guys could always bond with Derek about tragic house fires.” Sam and Dean both chuckled. All of a sudden the telltale snap of a broken twig caused all three Winchesters to whirl around. Emerging from the treelines was Scott, with his hands up, flanked by Peter, Derek and Isaac. 

“Sorry, We didn’t mean to frighten you” said Scott somewhat guiltily. Stiles took in Scott’s messy hair and tired eyes. The werewolf looked like he hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep.  That makes two of us.  Stiles, knowing the sleep loss was due to him, instantly felt guilty. Here was Scott, spending half the night worried about him, and what was Stiles doing? Bragging about the very story that had gotten them into this mess! Stiles did not have long to stew in this newfound guilt, however, because less than sixty seconds later, the Argent’s enormous SUV pulled up to the house, with Chris and Allison in front and Lydia in the backseat. 

Upon stepping out of the car, Chris Argent surveyed the scene and, seeing that no one was killing each other, relaxed his hand from where it had been reaching towards his gun.  Allison climbed out of the passenger seat and immediately made eye contact with Stiles. He looked from her to her dad, silently asking if she had gotten in trouble. Allison shook her head, unnoticeable to anyone who wasn’t looking for it. Lydia straightened her dress with a disgruntled huff and stood next to her best friend. The group now formed a misshapen circle around the Hale house driveway.  

Sam cleared his throat and nudged Stiles. “What?” The boy asked indignantly. It was then that Stiles noticed everyone was looking at him. “Oh.”  

Chris cleared his throat.  Is that a hunter thing? Is that what I’m going to turn into? Focus, Stiles.  Stiles was, however, too panicked to focus. It had only begun to hit him that today he could lose all of his friends. Mentally stricken, it took Stiles a minute to realize Argent had begun speaking. 

“-all know why we’re here.” Chris was saying. “The decision to remove Stiles from the pack was suspended due to emotional duress, and now we move to make that decision.” The pack, including Scott, Derek, Peter, Allison, Lydia, and Isaac, all nodded in consensus. Dean, however, interrupted. 

“Do you guys always talk like this? With this formal crap?” Dean ignored the harsh glares he received from Sam and Stiles. Chris smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. 

“No, Dean,” Chris replied in a clipped tone, “not always. But in matters of importance, like this, it helps for clarity’s purposes. Expelling a pack member is a serious matter that is almost impossible to reverse, so whatever works. May I continue?” 

Dean nodded and mumbled “Yes, Sir” just a little too sarcastically for Sam’s taste. 

“Anyway,” continued Chris, “I don’t think something like this should just be Scott’s decision.” 

“No,” Derek growled. “That goes against the whole point of there being an alpha.” Peter nodded in agreement, his angry stare never leaving the Winchesters. 

Sam shifted uncomfortably under the former alpha’s gaze. “What if everyone casts a vote that ultimately leads to Scott’s decision if it ties?” he proposed. Derek thought about it for a second then curtly nodded. The rest of the pack murmured their consent. Stiles, however, was internally panicking. He knew Scott could not make a decision like this, and as he looked into Scott’s eyes, he saw the Alpha knew this as well. Stiles and Scott could only hope that it didn’t come down to a tie. 

“Well,” said Allison promptly, the noon sun surrounding her like a halo, “I think Stiles should stay. He’s been nothing but an asset and he’ll probably be amazing once he gets to show off his hunter skills. A pack as accepting as me and my dad should be able to handle a Winchester.” Stiles smiled at Allison gratefully, and even Sam and Dean looked appreciative. Allison beamed at all three of them. She had come a long way, Stiles though, from the girl unwilling to risk her pack standing for him less than a day ago.

“Ok,” said Scott, using every ounce of strength he possessed to remain calm. “That’s one yes for keeping Stiles in the pack. Who’s next?” 

“Me.” replied Derek. “I vote no.” He looked Stiles in the eye before elaborating. “I’m sorry Stiles. You’re a great kid, and, like Allison said, you’ve been nothing but helpful. However,” at this, Derek faltered, but Peter egged him on and he continued. “you lied to us for almost two years. You’re a Winchester, and they are more of a beacon for trouble than Beacon Hills. People know who you are now, and they’re going to come for you. You stay with us, and we are asking for all sorts of trouble that we can’t defend ourselves from. My priorities are with the pack, not you. I’m sorry.” By the time he finished, Derek was looking at the floor. He couldn’t bear to see Stiles’ crestfallen face. Dean growled menacingly, and Sam put a threatening hand on his shoulder.  

“Thank you for your input.” Dean ground out, allthewhile shooting a glare so vile at Derek, the wolf felt like it was liquefying his kidneys. “Who’s next?” Dean barked, daring anyone else to insult his little brother. 

“Well,” began Chris ignoring the shift of Dean’s attention to him, “I am also putting the pack’s interests at heart. Which is why I think Stiles should stay.” Derek opened his mouth to protest, but Chris plowed on. “Stiles killed a demon that was terrorizing this town, and if he really is John Winchester’s son then he’s been trained by the best. To ignore that would be idiotic. He’s a good kid, and should be treated like one, not to mention that to have a Winchester as an enemy is basically a death wish.” Dean nodded. 

“Thanks.” Stiles mumbled. 

“Whatever gets the Winchesters out of town fastest.” Replied Chris, not taking his eyes off of Dean. Dean looked like he was about to provide a scathing retort but stopped when Sam elbowed him in the ribs. Peter watched the brotherly interaction with a raised eyebrow. 

“Well,” began Peter, “I agree with my nephew.” He gestured to Derek standing next to him. “Only I’m not sorry. Winchesters are volatile, and I will not stand to harbor one.” Dean and Sam began to look angry, but Peter continued, raising his voice. “The fact that I’ve been working with one for a year and a half makes no difference. I’ve seen how strange this past year has been, and it was probably Stiles’ fault. In fact,” Peter’s voice dropped to a whisper and he looked at Stiles with hate in his eyes. “Who’s to say it wasn’t all your fault, Stiles? The Hale fire, Kate Argent, everything?” Stiles shied away from Peter and Dean looked murderous. He began to run towards Peter but Sam forcibly restrained him. 

“You’re joking.” said Stiles, struggling to be heard over his brothers’ scuffling. “Are you really saying this,” He gestured around at the burnt trees and the shell of a house, “was my fault? I was raised a hunter, Peter, but I wasn’t insane like she was. I didn’t even know about the wolves until Scott was bitten. I wasn’t even suspicious until Laura’s death! You’re only blaming me, Peter, because you still can’t get over that it was all Derek’s fault!” Derek flinched but made no effort to disagree. “You know,” Stiles hissed, a sharp contrast to his previous steadily raised voice, “I was gonna kill you. I figured out who you were and I was going to hunt you down and gut you myself, without Scott or Derek even knowing. I only didn’t because they,” He gestured wildly behind him at his flailing brothers “talked me out of it! They’re the reason you’re alive, Peter, and I’m the reason you survived that demon. You want to talk trust? I’ve been holding your life in my hands for a year.” Stiles was shouting at this point but he didn’t care. He was seeing red. The number of times he could have killed Peter- oh he was right to not trust him but to accuse him of the Hale fire? As if he could take innocent lives like that!  

“Funny that you bring up demons,” replied Peter, his voice deathly quiet, “cause I’m looking at one. How long has it been since you were drinking demon blood, Sam? A year? Less? Not long enough in my book.” Peter’s hate-filled eyes bore into the middle Winchester’s skull. Sam froze, his arms still locked restrainedly around Dean’s elbows. Dean took this opportunity to break free from his brother’s hold before whirling around to face Peter. 

“You smart-ass SON OF A BITCH!” Dean roared. Peter didn’t flinch but rather smirked, even as Dean made a move for his gun. 

“DEAN!” Stiles yelled, deciding to intervene. “He’s not worth it!” Dean looked at Stiles for a long time before reluctantly putting his gun away. Peter’s smirk broadened. “Thank you for your opinion, Peter.” said Stiles icily, never taking his concerned eyes off of Dean.  

“Um.....” mumbled Scott, clearly at a loss as to how to safely diffuse the situation.  

“Well,” quipped Lydia, uncharacteristically timid, “If I could say something?” Scott nodded, and the rest of the pack turned to look at her. “I want to keep Stiles here. Not for the pack’s safety, but for Stiles’.” The pack and the Winchesters gaped at her. “I mean,” continued Lydia, her voice steady as she became more sure of herself, “that if Stiles didn’t have a home here in Beacon Hills, he would be with his brothers. And they should be dead. I sensed that they were wrong the moment they walked in the door, and it terrified me. I know that they are really good people, and hunters, but I’m terrified that if Stiles goes with them he will meet their fate. I don’t want that to happen.” She looked at the Winchesters apologetically. Sam met Lydia’s eyes and she could see that he had the exact same fears. This solidified Lydia’s opinion, and it was with her usually bright and sassy self that she marched over to Stiles and slapped him on the face. 

“Aahhh- OW!” he exclaimed comically, clutching his cheek where a red handprint was blooming.

“That is for not telling us sooner!” She said, with the tone not unlike a concerned parent. Then, much to Stiles’ surprise, she hugged him. He looked frantically at Sam and Dean over Lydia’s bright red head, who merely chuckled and gave looks that said ‘you’re on your own, man.’  

“Guys, we still have one vote.” Scott reminded everybody. As if on cue, the entire pack turned to look at a suddenly startled Isaac. “Isaac, your vote will either cause a tie or render my opinion obsolete.” Scott did his best to keep the plea out of his voice, but failed. 

“Well, Isaac?” Peter said menacingly. “What’ll it be?” Isaac visibly shrunk back, looking afraid. His eyes darted from person to person before resting on Stiles. He gulped. 

“Hey, hey take it easy! Don’t scare the kid!” Dean exclaimed, to no one in particular. “Isaac,” he said, and Derek looked taken aback at the sudden kindness in his voice, “don’t worry about what you say. Just do whatever you think is right.” 

“I-, I-,” Isaac faltered. He couldn’t handle it. Not the pressure or Scott’s silent plea or Peter’s threats. Isaac’s innate desire to please everyone would get him no where. How could he suddenly seize control of Stiles’ life when he had for years failed to control his own? Frantically, Isaac’s gaze darted around. Then he locked eyes with Stiles and he knew what he had to do.  

“The Winchesters scare me, and I don’t like being afraid. I attacked them out of fear, I was scared of their retaliation, even their back story chilled me to the bone. I didn’t sleep at all last night because I was terrified of either the Winchesters or the many things they hunted. It doesn’t really matter which. I look at Stiles and I’m afraid.” Stiles winced, but otherwise remained expressionless. “I’m afraid of what he represents, of the person he’s hid from us, and especially of what he will become. I feel like I don’t know him anymore, and I don’t like not knowing. It terrifies me that he’s a hunter and I had no idea. It terrifies me that he has freakishly tall brothers who rose from the dead. It terrifies me that he was able to kill the single most horrific specimen I have ever seen like it was nothing. I don’t know how I could live with that.” Isaac took a deep breath, and the pack seemed to freeze until he exhaled. “I don’t know how I  will  live with that, because as far as I’m concerned, Stiles is staying. I’m afraid of him, now, and I’m afraid of the Winchesters, but you know what? Maybe it’s time I face my fears.” With that, Isaac walked over to Stiles and gave him a big hug, one lanky boy to another. There was a pause before Stiles’ face broke into a big grin. Isaac steadily grinned back, and instantly he knew that he had done the right thing. 

“Stiles, you’re staying.” Scott said happily. Everyone looked ecstatic except for Peter. Even Derek managed a quick grin.  

“Well, this has been touching.” said Dean, a trace of exhaustion in his voice from fighting against his brother. “Stiles, do you mind if we swing by your place to grab our stuff before high-tailing it out of here?” 

“You’re not staying?” asked Stiles amid the chatter and hugs as Allison, Scott, Lydia and Isaac talked about the day’s events. A disappointed look crossed Stiles’ face, eerily similar to Sam’s ‘puppy dog eyes.’ 

“Nah, best not. Wouldn’t want to complicate-” Dean was cut off by a shrill ringing coming from his jacket pocket. Fumbling for his phone, he glanced at the caller id and grimaced. “ Crowley”  he mouthed at his brothers as he answered it. A sour look passed on Sam’s face before he nodded. He tossed Dean a grey packet that Stiles suspected contained Mountain Ash and Wolfsbane. Dean caught the bag one-handedly, phone pressed to his ear, before moving into the treeline. Before he was out of earshot, Stiles managed to catch an exchange of odd formalities- Sam would have to explain “Moose” and “Squirrel”- but that was all. Out of the corner of his eye, Stiles saw Peter make a move as if to follow Dean. Stiles rushed to head him off, but Sam beat him to it. 

“Don’t even think about it.” Sam warned. If it had been a regular human who had ordered him, Peter would have brushed past the flimsy words. As it was, he merely sulked, slinking back into the clearing, but not before shooting a glare at each of them. Stiles turned to Sam with a worried expression. “It’s fine.” Sam reassured him. “I’m sure it’s just Crowley following up.” It was an empty statement, and both of them knew it. Crowley was the king of Hell. He wouldn’t need the Winchesters to know if a demon had died. If he was calling then something else had happened. Or he knew about Stiles. Neither one was a very pleasant thought. 

Before Stiles could voice his fears, however, Dean strolled back into the clearing. “Bad news.” he called, catching the attention of everyone present. “That demon you iced yesterday? Well, turns out he did have backup, and they’re coming this way.” 


	11. All Hell Breaks Loose (Part 3)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, so, here's another chapter! I've also posted my previously mentioned prequel to the story, "poisoned youth" which you guys don't have to read unless you like the Vampire Diaries. It takes place between seasons 2 and 3. So in this chapter, Stiles and co prepare for some demonic guests. Enjoy!

Ch. 11

All Hell Breaks Loose (Part 3)

The pause that followed Dean’s announcement reminded Stiles vaguely of the moment of silence that comes after reciting the pledge of allegiance in school; everyone looked at each other, unsure of what to do, just like class!

The silence broke, however, and questions followed. Lots of panicked, loud questions. Stiles could barely keep up with them all.

‘How many?” asked Stiles and Sam simultaneously.

“How do you know?” asked Allison.

“Who were you on the phone with?” inquired Lydia

“We’re all going to die, aren’t we?” Isaac said, sounding fearful.

“”How do we know they aren’t following you instead of us? Or that you’re telling the truth?” Peter spat.

‘Can you teach us how to protect ourselves?” asked Derek.

“I was worried something like this would happen.” groaned Chris.

Dean had had enough. “Ok, everybody QUIET!” Dean roared over the cacophony of voices. To his surprise, everyone immediately ceased talking and looked at him expectantly. “Ok, everyone calm down. Nobody’s killing any wolves. Look, there’s demons, five of them. I just got off the phone with their boss, Crowley. He said they were missing from their ranks as of this morning. Now I don’t know who they're after-”

“Wait,” interrupted Scott, looking confused. “You said their boss, as in... a demon?”

“King of Hell.” corrected Dean. ‘He’s, uh.. and associate.” Upon seeing the panicked look on Scott’s face, Sam came in to the rescue.

“He helped us defeat Lucifer a couple months ago, and he hasn’t caused any trouble since, he’s actually pretty useful. He’s nothing like the demon you met last week.”

Dean chuckled. “Nah, Crowley'd flip if he got any blood on his fancy new suit or whatever. Anyway,” Dean continued, his voice serious again, “like I was saying, I don’t know if they’re after us,” he gestured to Sam and himself, “the demon’s body, or the killer.” Dean looked Stiles squarely in the eyes, expressing his worry. Stiles suddenly felt very, very small. “Either way, they’re closing in, and it won’t take them long to figure out he came to Beacon Hills. I mean, it’s freaking nematon is what drew Alexander here in the first place.”

“Alexander?” asked Lydia.

“The demon’s name, not like it matters. Ok, anymore questions?” Dean looked around as the pack collectively shook their heads. “Good. Cause we need to get moving. We need to teach you guys how to hunt demons, prep the town, get our hands on some rock salt...” The pack nodded, very confused Especially the part about the rock salt. Stiles, however, seemed totally up to speed. If anything, he was eerily calm. Scott thought back to their brief Q-and-A with Dean, and realized that right from the beginning Stiles had been all business, totally in sync with the Winchesters. This sharp contrast to jumpy and panicked Stiles spooked Scott.

“Don’t worry.” said Stiles. “We’ll be ready. I’m not going to make the same mistake twice.” Stiles flinched a little as he said this, still feeling guilty for the carnage the last demon had caused.

“Good.” said Dean. “Cause all Hell’s about to break loose.” He grinned at his brothers knowingly. “Again.”

 

Teaching Scott to hunt demons was a lot like teaching a cat to drive a truck. _Actually, screw that_. thought Stiles as he went through yet again how to draw a devil’s trap. _I’m pretty sure a cat would have successfully merged onto the highway by now._ Stiles sighed in exasperation. Around four had passed since they had moved from the woods to Derek’s loft, the sky was beginning to grow darker, and he was exhausted. An emotional standoff with Peter would do that to you, not to mention learning that not only were your demonic problems far from over, you might have just made them worse. Stiles supposed that this was what his brothers felt like all the time: constant action and knowing that half of the preset demonic activity was your own doing. Stiles didn’t envy them for a second. While he enjoyed each hunt he spent with his brothers, each one had further fermented the belief that he only wanted hunting to be a recreational activity. Maybe he could run a supernatural support group or something. Actually, the more he thought about it, Stiles realized that there was never any help available to victims of demonic possession or other attacks without being declared clinically insane. Maybe he could be a supernatural psychiatrist...

“Now, why can’t we just use mountain ash?” Scott asked, snapping Stiles out of his daydreaming. Stiles felt annoyance rise up inside him and resisted the urge to punch his best friend in the face.

“Demons are human, Scott, or they used to be. While traps and holy water work, mountain ash doesn’t because they are possessing human bodies.” Scott nodded.

“So the mountain ash your brothers had, that was only for us?” Stiles mentally kicked himself as he realized he had walked into a trap.

“Yeah, but just as a precaution, I swear.” Scott looked incredulous. “Really! I didn’t even ask them to bring it! Though if it makes you feel any better, they got it from a crazy old guy who called it goofer dust.” Scott’s expression softened and he let out a laugh. Stiles thanked the pagan gods (that his brothers hadn’t killed) that that crisis was averted.

Scott and Stiles turned their attention back to the art of demon trapping. Meanwhile, Sam was making much more progress teaching Lydia how to do an exorcism.

“.. _te rogamus, audi nos_!” Lydia finished chanting.

“Perfect!” exclaimed Sam, happy he was making headway. “If I didn’t know better I would say you were actually speaking the language rather than reciting it.” Lydia smiled.

“Well, I am fluent in archaic latin.” she bragged.

“Oh my gosh! Me too!” Sam all but squealed. Lydia’s grin widened.

“It’s odd, though. I never thought that stringing words together in an order like this could have such an... impact. I mean, you can’t do that with English.”

“Yeah you can.” replied Sam. “It’s called amazing poetry, or unbelievable stories, or powerful words. It’s all the same, only here it just happens to expel demons, which is, you know, handy.”

“Deep.” replied Lydia, somewhat sarcastically, but Sam could tell she actually liked that explanation.

“When you two are done with your gibberish maybe you can help me out here!” Dean yelled at his brother from the other side of the loft, where he was attempting to explain the uses of rock salt and holy water to Peter and Derek. All three were rather tense.

Sam turned to Lydia. ‘Have you got the exorcism memorized?” he asked. She rolled her eyes.

“Obviously.” Satisfied, Sam ran over to his brother and the two former Alphas.

“What’s up?” he asked. Dean glared at him for no reason other than being tense.

“Well,” Dean replied, “we’re trying to figure out how to get holy water into the local water supply, and we could use a few extra heads.” Sam nodded and gestured for Lydia to join him. She sauntered over in her designer heels.

“It would be easiest to just throw a crucifix and blessing into a water tower, like Dad did when dealing with Meg” Sam offered.

“Beacon Hills doesn’t have anything like that.” Lydia interjected. “It’s all groundwater. But if we use the filtration and treatment plant we should be good.”

“How will that help?” asked Derek. “When a demon shows up, we can’t exactly run to the nearest faucet.”

“No, but it may stop the demons from possessing local townspeople.” supplied Sam. “Think of it like poisoning Gerard with mountain ash, only not harmful to the host. Holy water won’t hurt the human, only the demon.”

To Sam’s surprise, Derek nodded. “Ok, when do we do this?”

“Right now.” Sam said. “Dean, want to go ahead?”

“Sure thing Sammy. Oh, and here.” Dean slipped several anti-possession charms into his brother’s hand. Sam tossed Dean the keys to the impala and Dean made his way out the door.

“Okay!” Sam announced to the loft. Everyone turned to look at him. “Everybody needs to take one of these!” He held up the small gold charms on the thin leather bands. “They’ll keep you from getting possessed.” Sam handed two to Derek and Peter, the latter studying it suspiciously before putting it on. Sam then threw two over to the Argents, who were filling shell casings with salt and coating Allison’s arrows with it. He then threw one over to Scott, who was still trying to spray paint a devil’s trap by the door. Satisfied that everyone was protected, Sam moved over to a map Derek had procured of the town.

Scott turned to Stiles. “Don’t you need one too?” he asked, gesturing to the charm around his neck. With a sigh, Stiles pulled down the collar of his shirt to reveal the black tattoo of the anti-possession charm over his heart.

“Sam and Dean have them too.” he said in response to Scott’s gaping expression. Scott quickly closed his mouth.

“You know, it all makes sense now.”

“What does?” asked Stiles.

“Why you never take your shirt off.” Stiles looked at Scott for a moment in sheer disbelief. Then the two friends burst out laughing.

“Alright, Scotty,” Stiles said in between chuckles. “Let’s try this one more time.” He gestured to the many failed red pentagrams on the floor. They had just begun again when Sam strolled over to the two boys from across the loft.

“Hey Stiles, I need a favor.” Sam stated as he squatted down next to his brother on the floor. “Can you ask the sheriff to put a curfew up for tonight?”

“Of course!” Stiles said without missing a beat. “But why? You really think they’ll get here that soon? I thought we were only dealing with five demons.” Sam shrugged.

“I don’t know.” he admitted. “Crowley is helpful at times, but isn’t exactly 100% accurate. Alexander’s followers could have followers of their own, friends, hell, I have no idea. Lydia thinks we should prep for the worst.” Sam gestured to the steel table across the loft where Lydia, Derek, and Peter were planning around a map of Beacon Hills. “She also thinks we should spray-paint a giant devil’s trap through town.”

“It’s a good plan,” admitted Stiles. “It might take a while, though.”

“I’ll do it!” exclaimed Scott, sick of being the useless one for a change. “With my werewolf speed, I can maybe do it in an hour.” Sam nodded.

“Good. Stiles, go with him.” Sam looked gravely at the indistinguishable red blobs on the floor. “Make sure he doesn’t screw up.” Within seconds, Scott was out the door. Stiles mumbled a few words of encouragement to his brother before picking up the spray cans and following him. Sam sighed, relieved to have a plan of action, no matter how flimsy. Hopefully Isaac wouldn’t fail him either. He picked himself off the floor and then made it over to the makeshift Argent forgery in the corner. Chris raised an eyebrow when he saw Sam sit down next to him.

“So,” Sam said to the two werewolf hunters. “What do you guys think about carving devil’s traps into bullets?” Allison looked up from the arrowheads she was fashioning, intrigued.

 

Dean sighed in relief as he finished his latin chanting and dropped his small wooden rosary beads into the water plant. He could practically see the blessing working, spreading throughout the town’s water supply. Satisfied, Dean walked away from the plant and towards his beloved Impala. It was nice to have a plan for a change, no matter how flimsy. All in all, Dean was in a good mood. He had saved his brother from losing his friends, formed a sort-of alliance with the locals, and on top of it would get to wipe five stinking demons from the earth. Sounds like a good day. Dean was so preoccupied in repacking the car and pondering, that he didn’t notice he wasn’t alone.

“Squirrell, always a pleasure.” Dean hit his head on the top of the trunk as he jumped in surprise. He cursed whatever god was listening and slowly turned around. Sure enough, there was Crowley, impeccably dressed with his usual designer suit and smugness.

“Well, Crowley, I would say the same, but you know, I kind of hate you.” Crowley smirked at Dean’s sarcasm.

“Charming as ever. Anyway, I hardly swung by to talk about pleasantries. Let’s talk business, mainly that demon you shot.” Crowley begun pacing, and Dean matched him, so that the two men were now circling each other. Dean silently thanked the same god he cursed that Crowley was misinformed. He needed to keep the bastard away from Stiles.

“You mean Alexander? Well, I’m sorry for your loss.” Dean said with his usual sarcastically arrogant pretense. However, inside he was beginning to panic. What would happen if Crowley found out about yet another Winchester roaming the earth? One without an angel on his shoulder?

Crowley scoffed at Dean’s mock concern. “Please. I would have killed the bugger eventually. Useless prat was only good for causing small trouble. I should probably thank you. I won’t given that it was me who have you the Colt in the first place, but I digress.” Dean rolled his eyes, and was about to reply with a witty retort of his own, but something stopped him.

“Wait, how do you know we shot the bastard? We put him in the ground less than half an hour after he bit the dust, and if you have been tracking us you know we’re using the knife. Not to mention you can’t see us thanks to Ruby’s hex bags. Have you been here the whole time?” Dean played this off as anger, but in truth he was worried. He put his hands in his pockets, thinking. If Crowley had been there....

“Relax, Squirrell. I heard it through the grapevine. ‘Winchester killed Alexander with the Colt’ doesn’t take much interpretation skills.”

“Well how did the grapevine hear it?”

“No idea.” Unconcerned, Crowley continued. “Doesn’t matter. I want to inquire as to why you and your brother are not currently ‘hitting the road’ as you call it.”

Dean scoffed. “It might have something to do with the backup you mentioned? A little late, I might add.” Crowley rolled his eyes.

“Please, Dean. You boys are so predictable. Last minute demons are no problem for you. It is, however, a little intriguing that you aren’t leading them away from a town that has just been steamrollered by demonic activity.”

“Who says they’d follow us?” Crowley looked at Dean the same way one might look at a pesky bug.

“You’re the bloody Winchesters and you killed their leader! Of course they’d follow you, since apparently no one but me seems to think outright attacking you is a stupid idea! You boys have a stronger pull for the supernatural then that godforsaken tree stump on the town border.” Dean whistled.

“I gotta say, Crowley, that almost sounded like a compliment.”

“Anyway,” Crowley said through grit teeth, the last of his patience rapidly disappearing, “you still haven’t answered my question. What are you hiding?”

“Nothing, Crowley.” Dean said forcefully. Crowley smirked, as if he could sense Dean’s nervousness.

“Guess I’ll find out for myself, then.” Crowley winked before he disappeared.

“You son of a BITCH!” Dean shouted to thin air. He slammed the trunk to his car loudly before running his fingers through his hair. He reached into his pocket to call Sammy before a sudden, splitting pain ran through his skull. Dean clutched his head, feeling the blood, before everything went black and he fell gracelessly to the ground.

 

“C’mon Scott! Let’s go!” Stiles yelled as he sprinted up a boulevard. Scott raced on his friend’s heels, the tell-tale clattering of spray-paint cans echoing along the empty street. Stiles dived down to the ground, sliding to a stop at the end of the street. He began painting another part of the carefully constructed circle before he took off again. Scott quickly spray painted a blood-red line down the entire street sprinting after his best friend, who was already on to the next. Due to Scott’s enhanced running abilities and Stiles’ fervor, they finished the street in less than a minute. “Okay,” Stiles gasped, out of breath. “How many- m-more do we need to do?”

“We’re about halfway through town!” Scott announced proudly.

“Okay,” Stiles said again, bending over as he struggled to speak concisely. “How long have we been out?”

Scott checked his phone, and took the lack of texts from any pack members as a good sign. “1 hour.”

“Good. That’s good. Means I can rest for a minute.” Stiles flopped down on a patch of grass near the street. Scott grinned, not having broken a sweat.

“Hello, boys.” Scott whirled around to find a bearded man in a black suit standing in front of him. With a yelp, Stiles jumped up from his reclining position and took a very poorly executed defensive stance. Crowley laughed at the theatrics.

“What the- how- w-” Crowley waved his hand, and a flustered Scott immediately stopped stuttering. Scott opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He looked at Stiles pleadingly.

“I didn’t know demons could do that.” Stiles stated, his hand inching towards his pocket.

“I didn’t know teenagers knew about demons.” Crowley retorted.

“Are you one of Alexander’s followers?” Stiles asked apprehensively, ignoring Scott’s silent panic.

Crowley looked downright insulted. “Hardly. The name’s Crowley. Don’t pretend you haven’t heard of me.” At this, Stiles quickly reached into his waistband, but stopped short when he realized nothing was there.

“Looking for this?” Crowley inquired. Stiles paled when he saw the King of Hell raise a very familiar looking gun. “My, my, how things come in full circle. I was the one who gave the boys this, you know.” Crowley twirled the gun in his hands for a moment before clicking a bullet into place and raising it. Instead of aiming at Stiles, however, Crowley pointed the gun at Scott. Stiles started forward but one look from the demon sent him screeching to a halt. “Don’t even think about it, Stiles. You and I both know this gun has the capability to kill your furry little friend over here.” Stiles raised his hands in surrender.

“What do you want?” Stiles asked. Crowley was pleased at the boy’s compliance.

“I want information. I want to know why Sam and Dean Winchester, hunters extraordinaire, famous for leaving towns in record-breaking times, are hanging around in northern California with a pack of flipping werewolves!”

“I don’t know.” said Stiles sardonically, desperate to hide his fear. “I only met them yesterday.”  
Crowley smiled threateningly. “See, I doubt that. At first I thought that they were protecting that blasted nematon. But you having the Colt is odd enough, and Dean so helpfully pointed out that he and Sam have not been using it, so...” Crowley trailed off, looking at Stiles expectantly. Stiles warily took a step back. He didn’t like the evil glint in Crowley’s eyes one bit. “I don’t know what you are, but you could be important.” Crowley reached out and touched Stiles on his arm. Before Stiles could react, the pair had vanished, leaving Scott tongueless and alone with nothing but a flickering streetlamp for company.


	12. Demonic Omens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, thanks so much for all the awesome comments! Here's another chapter! So, as you may already guess, the story is 14 chapters and this is chapter 12. Chapter 14 is an epilogue, so this is kind of the second to last chapter. So, enjoy!

Ch. 12

Demonic Omens

Sam had just finished etching into a bullet when a harsh alarm made him snap to attention. Derek ran over and shut it off. “Expecting anyone?” he growled at Sam.

“It must be Scott and Stiles. Or Dean. That was quicker than I thought.” Sam hurried over and opened the door and saw Scott tumble through alone.

“Scott!” Allison shouted as she rushed over to the werewolf’s side. “Scott! What happened? Where’s Stiles?” While Allison fussed over him, Sam took stock of Scott’s condition. No visible injuries, no blood, and yet the kid was rendered speechless. _No, wait a minute..._ Upon further examination, Sam saw that Scott was indeed trying to speak, but no words were coming out. Lydia, seeing this at the same time as Sam, ran over with a pen and a scrap of paper. Scott lept from Allison’s arms and hastily scribbled a single word before collapsing back into the huntress, shaking. Sam quickly snatchd up the paper and read. Then he cursed violently, crumpling up the note and tossing it to the floor in disgust. Lydia bent down to retrieve it.

‘What the hell is a ‘Crowley?’”

 

Dean came to tied to a chair. _Well, this is new_. he thought bitterly. Hadn’t demons come up with any new captivity techniques? As he took in his surroundings Dean noticed that all of his hidden knives were still on his person and it would be very easy to escape from the chair. He was actually in perfect condition, except for where he had been hit on the head. _So the demon that got me is stupid. That could be very bad or good_. Stupid meant easy to escape from, but it also meant terrifyingly reckless. Dean decided to ignore this for the time being, and with a little struggle he retrieved the knife in his left shoe. He had just finished slicing through the ropes when a burnett woman who looked to be in her late twenties walked through the door he was facing. She grinned when she saw Dean.

“Where am I?” Dean barked, purposefully giving off a confused facade.

“You’re in the warehouse next to the treatment plant.” The demon said smugly, clearly proud of herself.

“And let me guess, you’re one of Alexander’s supporters?” She nodded, stepping forward so that her face was illuminated by the single bulb hanging over Dean’s head.

“I’m his second in command.” she said with a smirk.

“So, what? You’re gonna kill me for ganking your fearless leader? Well, I got news, sweetheart. Killing me won’t solve anything.”

“I know you didn’t kill him, Dean. Alexander was smart, he would have avoided you Winchesters. You’re bait for the one who did.” She said Dean’s last name with a snarl, as if the very word was poisonous.

“If this is your first time dealing with hunters, then you are even stupider than your boss.” Deciding it was time to leave, Dean stood up swiftly, surprising his captor. With a sharp kick to the knees, the brunette demon was on the floor. Dean ran out of the barren room, locking the door behind him for good measure. Seeing that the rest of the warehouse was empty, Dean ran for the door, but before he could get there he found his path blocked by a surly looking Crowley, holding a pale and terrified Stiles by his wrist.

 

“Care to explain, Dean?” Crowley asked as he shoved Stiles towards his brother. Dean caught him before Stiles could faint, and, seeing his brother was unharmed, turned towards Crowley angrily.

“There’s a demon in the other room. Deal with her and then maybe we talk.” Crowley sighed.

“Please, squirrell. She vanished the moment she felt my presence, most likely to go deal with your brother and his new friends. Speaking of which, who is this astonishingly stupid friend of yours?”

“This is Stiles.” Dean said, struggling to keep his voice emotionless. “He’s part of the local werewolf pack. We joined forces to take care of the demons you neglected to mention” Unbeknownst to Crowley, Dean slipped his demon-killing knife from his pocket into Stiles’ hands as he made a show of comforting him. Stiles met his eyes and nodded.

“Well how does a member of a local werewolf pack you met yesterday get his hands on this?” Crowley pulled the Colt from the inside of his jacket pocket. Dean cursed Stiles’ idiocy.

“He must have swiped it from Sam. Apparently he has a reputation for being a trickster.” Crowley rolled his eyes.

“As if he could get past Moose. No, here’s what I think happened. I think your little _friend_ here,” he gestured to Stiles with the gun and Stiles stiffened, “killed the demon. I think you have been lying to me and the two of you have known eachother for a long time. Now tell me what’s going on or I pick a target and I shoot!” Dean decided the jig was up. He was not going to risk innocent people’s lives.

“Alright, alright! Take it easy.” Dean said angrily. “If you must know, this is Stiles Winchester.” He gestured to the pale, shaking kid in his arms. “My brother.”

 

_Ring.......Ring.......Ring...... ‘You’ve reached Dean’s other, other cell so you must know what to do.’ *BEEP*_

“C’mon, Dean! Pick up! DAMMIT!” Sam exclaimed as he angrily threw his cell phone against the wall, having once again reached Dean’s voicemail. Behind him, the whole pack watched warily as Sam leaned up against the wall and took several steadying breaths. Lydia stood with her hand on the shoulder of a crouched Allison, her face a mixture of worry and panic. Allison was frozen, her arms reaching towards the wolf she was tending to as Scott had his hand on his throat, as if to force his tongue to work. Behind them, Derek and Peter stood, arms crossed, the former concerned, the latter impassive. It was to this tableau that Sam turned to as he ran his fingers through his long hair, his face etched in worry.

“Sam?” Lydia stepped forward, afraid but holding herself together. “Where’s Stiles? What kind of trouble is he in?” Sam sighed deeply, and was just about to answer that he had no idea when Derek’s shrill alarm once again resonated through the room. Derek stomped over to it and angrily shut it off, then turned towards the door. Hope sparked through Sam’s eyes, only to be extinguished and replaced by a sense of duty. For stumbling across the threshold was a panting and haggard Isaac, dragging two enormous sacks full of rock salt. Wheezing, the werewolf collapsed down the steps by the door, and landed at Sam’s feet. In an echo of the previous day, Sam pulled Isaac off of the ground by the scruff of his neck, but instead of shoving him down the stairs, he steadied the wolf at the foot of them.

“I- I- I finished it.” Isaac grinned from ear to ear as he gasped out his accomplishments, gesturing to the nearly empty salt bags. “The whole town!” Seeing Sam’s less than happy expression, however, Isaac turned from the hunter and took in his surroundings. He saw Scott’s fearful expression and grew worried. “Hey, what’s wrong? Where are Dean and Stiles?” Isaac directed the question to Scott, then, seeing he couldn’t talk, to Sam.

Sam looked at a loss for words; for everything. “I don’t know.” he said to Isaac. Then, more slowly, as if to truly absorb what those words meant, he repeated them. “I. Don’t. Know.”

 

“ _Another_ Winchester? As if three of you running around wasn’t enough, there’s got to be a fourth?” Dean sighed as Crowley ranted, having just provided a detailed explanation of Stiles’ lineage.

“Technically, there were always four. Well- until Adam bit it.” Crowley rolled his eyes

“Shut up Squirrell. How have I- I mean- how has no one known about this kid?” Dean couldn’t help but smile at Crowley’s exasperation.

“Aw, Crowley!” Dean taunted. “Don’t feel bad! Adam didn’t get his guts eaten out until he was 19.” Next to him, Stiles shifted uncomfortably, yet watched the conversation intently.

“Angels knew, Dean, even if you were too ignorant to save the kid’s life. What I want to know is how Stiles flew under the radar and avoided the apocalypse.” Dean looked about to reply with a comment on what Crowley could do with the Colt when Stiles interrupted him.

“I dunno Crowley. I was a bit busy with a killer lizard, a killer werewolf, and a killer English teacher, not necessarily in that order.” Stiles said, regaining his composure. “Add an apocalypse to that, and who knows! I might have never finished my homework.” Stiles smiled sardonically, and, seeing that Crowley looked unamused, dropped to a more serious tone of voice. “I don’t know why, ok? I’d just like to hope it wasn’t because of something worse, which, to be fair, it always is. Can we go now?”

“No.” Crowley sneered. “I still have so many more questions.” Stiles and Dean exchanged alarmed looks, and Dean ever so subtly inclined his head towards the door. It was time to go.

“See, here’s the thing Crowley. We weren’t asking.” Dean said, before lunging and tackling Crowley to the ground. The two grappled, leaving Stiles with an opportunity. Stiles ran over to the struggle before raising the demon knife and plunging it into Crowley’s leg. The King of Hell howled in pain, and Stiles quickly pulled out the knife. Dean disentangled himself from his opponent, and the two looked at each other triumphantly before running like hell.

“Over there!” Dean shouted as they cleared the door to the warehouse, gesturing wildly to the Impala parked in a nearby lot. Stiles, still exhausted from his previous adventures with Scott, was wheezing as he struggled to keep up with his brother. Finally, the two made it to the sleek black car, and they unceremoniously threw open the doors and fell into it. Dean quickly started it and the two peeled away from the warehouse and treatment plant, just as Crowley was getting to his feet, watching the car disappointedly.

 

" _That's_ Crowley?" Stiles asked, breathing easier in the safety of the car. "I thought he'd be taller."

Dean laughed and released much of the tension building up inside him.

"Oh, man. I am so telling him you said that." Dean reached into his pocket for his phone to call Sam after he peeled quickly out of the parking lot.

"Eyes on the road, Dean!" Stiles exclaimed as the pair tore down a stretch of (thankfully) empty road. Annoyed, Dean threw his phone at Stiles, who frantically began dialing.

“It’s voicemail. Dean, should we be worried?” Stiles asked, phone still pressed to his ear as he looked over at his brother. Dean looked calm as he kept his eyes fixed to the pavement. Almost too calm.

“Nah. We’ll be there in a few minutes.” Dean paused after speaking, looking thoughtful. With a jolt, Stiles realized why he was so concerned.

“Dean....” Stiles began slowly, not wanting to alarm him, “Your escape. It was...”

“I know.” Dean replied.

Stiles gulped. “Then who’s following us? Crowley or ...?”

Dean sighed. “I don’t know. Either. Both. Doesn’t really matter. There are hex bags all around the loft so it makes sense why they would let us go just to follow us. I should have known that the demon wouldn’t be that stupid.”

“What, did you underestimate her just because she was a girl?”

Dean looked appalled at Stiles’ accusation. “Hey man, give me some credit!” He replied angrily. “The chick demons often turn out to be the smarter ones. No, I just figured she’d be lousy because Alexander was lousy and she was second in command. Stupid!” Dean hit the wheel angrily and accidentally honked the horn. Besides him, Stiles was beginning to get angry.

“Yeah! You were stupid, Dean! Thanks to you, we are leading not one but TWO demons right towards our previously defended loft with no backup and no plan!” Dean, to Stiles’ surprise, took the berating without batting an eye.

“New plan.” Dean said gruffly, his shaking arms betraying his held back rage. “We lead them to the wolf den, and we fight.” Stiles began to show signs of protest, but Dean called him off. “Admit it, it’s our only option. We should just be lucky that you called your dad, and hope that Isaac succeeded, since you didn’t finish drawing that devil’s trap.” Dean shot Stiles a pointed glare, and any response that Stiles might have had caught in his throat. After a moment, Dean sighed. “Look, I’m sorry that we have to drag your friends into this. But why bother spending all afternoon preparing them for a fight that they wouldn’t participate in?” Dean looked at Stiles, who shrugged.

“I don’t know. I mean, they were going to kill me when they found out that I was planning to fight without them. They’ve already had a hard time adjusting to who I am, I didn’t want to make it any worse by them seeing me in action. I guess I knew deep down it would come to this.”

“Stiles, man, take it from someone who knows. Trying to keep your loved ones out of the fight only gets them hurt. You’ve been lucky so far, but your luck has just run out. You tell them everything, and you keep telling them, understand? Everyone will be wiser and everyone will be able to protect themselves.”

“Ignorance is bliss.” Stiles muttered half-heartedly.

“Bliss gets you killed. Stiles, you’ve got friends so close they’re family. Family is our fatal flaw. Let them fight, and stop driving yourself mad trying to protect them all.”

“Okay, Dean, I get it.”

“Good.” Dean said satisfactorily. “Cause you look terrible.” Stiles chuckled. “No, seriously, how much sleep have you been getting since the Darach?” The smile that had begun to grace Dean’s face fell as he took in his brother’s suddenly ragged appearance. Mentally, he kicked himself. How had he been with his brother for 24 hours and not noticed?

“Eight.” Stiles replied.

“A night?” Dean asked incredulously.

“This past week. No, let’s see,” Stiles began to slowly count on his fingers until all but two of his fingers were splayed out. “Yeah, eight.” Dean looked alarmed and was about to speak when he noticed that they had arrived at their destination. Two car door slammed as the brothers exited the car and gazed at the loft apprehensively. Worried, Dean glanced at his brother out of the corner of his eye, and was both relieved and confused to see that Stiles looked completely normal. The ashen gray face, impossibly dark circles, and tired demeanor were replaced by Stiles’ usual energetic self. Dean sighed. He must have imagined it. Except for the Winchesters, it never was imagination. Dean could have sworn that Stiles looked almost.... dark. He would have to talk to Sam later....

“Should we go in?” Stiles asked, taking his eyes away from the loft to look at his brother.

“Yeah.” Dean said. “You got the knife?” Stiles rolled his eyes but pulled out the knife from his pocket. Dean nodded, and the two made their way into the loft. Once they made it to the door, Stiles slowly slid it open, only to be immediately ambushed by something small, fierce, and bright red.


	13. Blood on my Name

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry I haven't posted in a while. So this is the second to last chapter, the remaining chapter being an epilogue. For those of you who want to see more, I've begun posting a prequel, 'Poisoned Youth.' A note, there's someone in this chapter who's from the prequel, (and the vampire diaries.) Just know that it's someone Stiles knows from hunting escapades. Enjoy!

 

Ch. 13

Blood on my Name

“Lydia! Lydia! Stop! I’m fine! Seriously!” Stiles’ voice was muffled slightly by Lydia’s red hair as she hugged him for dear life. Stiles attempted to swat her away for a few seconds, but upon realizing it was impossible he reciprocated. After a minute Lydia stepped away from Stiles. He looked relieved for about two seconds before she slapped his face. Again.

“First Scott stumbles in here speechless saying he’s lost you and your brother tells us you’ve been kidnapped by the king of hell? Never scare me like that again.” Lydia said determinedly. She marched down the stairs to where the rest of the pack and Sam were waiting. Dean raised his eyebrows in surprise and looked over at Stiles, who was groaning in pain and clutching his cheek.

“Note to self.” Stiles said weakly. “Never upset Lydia. Ever.” He and Dean then trudged down the stairs to join the rest of the pack. Stiles ran over to Scott and gave him a hug. “Hey, man, are you okay?” He asked his friend. Scott nodded and gestured to his throat, indicating he couldn’t speak. Stiles noticed Isaac, who was standing behind Scott, was panting slightly.

Dean walked over to Sam, who looked a little shaken. “C’mon Sammy,” he teased. “You weren’t worried I hope.” Sam smiled and shook his head.

“Nah. I knew you’d be back soon.” Dean nodded but his eyes strayed to Sam’s black phone on the floor nearby. It wasn’t broken, but it had a dent on the corner, as if it had been thrown against the wall. Dean made a note to talk to Sam later about respecting Christmas presents before moving on to examine Scott. What Lydia had said briefly at the door had intrigued him, and as he made his way over to the alpha he could see that Scott was indeed struggling to speak. As Dean approached Scott, Allison and Stiles, who had been fussing over him, stepped away so Dean could see.

“Crowley did this to you?” Dean asked. Scott nodded. “Did he say what he wanted? Did he say anything else worth mentioning?” Scott shrugged. “Stiles,” Dean said, switching his attention to his little brother, “Did he say anything to you before he confronted me ?” Stiles rubbed the back of his neck nervously and was about to reply but was interrupted by Sam.

“Confronted you? Dean, What the hell happened? What happened to the plan?” Sam yelled, and Dean could hear the stress and worry in his voice. Dean had to tell him now, even if it was in front of the pack. He spun around to face Sam, but the reassuring words dies in his throat.

“Sam, I would love to have a heart to heart about how worried you’ve been, but we’ve got problems. I was jumped at the water plant by Alexander’s second in command, and she made it easy for me to escape. I ran in to Crowley, who had Stiles, and he made me tell him everything. Stiles and I ran away, but it was the same thing, too easy.Both demons followed us here.” Sam nodded as Dean finished, his serious manner replacing his worried one.

“Stiles, what happened to you and Scott?”

“Well, we were drawing the devil’s trap when Crowley appeared. He mentioned something about being suspicious, Scott became mute, we vanished to the warehouse where Dean ‘escaped’, and Crowley made Dean tell him that he was my brother. You know, typical day.” Stiles quipped. Sam thought that he was acting a little too energetic, especially since a moment earlier he looked very nervous, almost like he was leaving something out. Sam shook his head and chalked it up to being freaked out by the whole thing.

“Wait a minute. What’s this about the demons following you? I thought the hex bags kept us safe!” This came from Allison, who stood near the back with her bow, suddenly looking very apprehensive.

“They do, which is why they kidnapped us. Without Stiles and I leading a trail back to here, the demons would never have found us.” Dean replied.

“Why do it then?” Peter growled, barely containing his rage.

“I’ll have my brother explain.” Dean said, never taking his eyes off of Peter. “But first, let me ask you something. Who did I kill?”

“What?” Peter asked, surprise keeping the menace in his voice at bay.

“Well usually when people hate me as much as you do it’s because I’ve slept with their daughter, broken several federal laws, punched them in the face, or killed someone they loved. You don’t have a daughter, that I am aware of, you wouldn’t care if I broke 50 laws (which I have), and as much as I would love to punch you in the face, it hasn’t happened yet. So tell me, who did I kill?”

Peter remained silent.

“Suit yourself. But if we’re going to take on four-odd demons and the king of hell, we are going to need to work together.” Peter, who stood in front of Dean, arms crossed, nodded slowly. “Excelent. Stiles?” Dean gestured for Stiles to take the reigns.

“Um.. yeah.” Stiles said eloquently. “So, ok, please don’t get mad at me, but at first Sam, Dean and I were going to face on the demons somewhere else.... without you.” Stiles said tentatively. He flinched at the looks of betrayal that flashed across Scott’s and Allison’s faces.

“Stiles, how could you?” Allison asked, the stress from the night wearing on her voice.

“Allison, please don’t be mad at me.” Stiles begged. “It was to keep you safe. It was to keep all of you-” he gestured around the loft “-safe. You don’t have my brother’s skills or training. I do. You’re a werewolf hunter. I’m a demon hunter. If you go up against a demon, Allison, you’d lose.”

Allison’s glare was sharp enough to cut through the metal walls.

“Look,” Stiles continued, “it doesn’t matter anymore, cause the battle is going to be here. The demons will arrive in a matter of minutes, and blood will be spilt because I did something stupid.” He cast his eyes to the floor, crestfallen. “They’re after Alexander’s killer, me. I’ve put you guys in danger and I’m so sorry.”

“Hey.” A voice comforted Stiles as a soft arm snaked around his shoulders. It was Lydia. “It’s ok, Stiles.” She said, hugging him gently. “You saved us, Stiles, 24 hours ago. You’ll save us again. We’ll get through it. I promise.” Stiles buried his head into Lydia’s shoulder, squeezing out the tears that threatened to spill.

There was a pause, before an interruption from Derek, of all people.

“I hate to break up the moment,” he said, sounding like he really didn’t hate to at all, “but I can smell the demons. They’ll be here in a manner of minutes.” Stiles immediately broke apart from Lydia, all business.

“Don’t worry, Stiles, I prepped the loft, in case the fight did go down here.” Sam said. Stiles raised his eyes to the ceiling. _Bingo_. He grinned.

“It’s perfect. Is everyone ready for a fight?” Stiles asked.

“Yes.” Scott replied, startling everybody. The spell had worn off.

The rest of the pack nodded, and spread out across the expanse of the floor, Allison with her weapons, Chris with his guns, Sam and Dean with their hunting supplies, the werewolves with their werewolfitude, Stiles with the Colt, and Lydia with a... lead pipe? _Whatever._ Stiles thought. _She’s mainly going to be doing exorcisms anyways_. A nudge from his shoulder made him look and see Chris standing next to him.

“Can I talk to you?” Chris asked, trying and failing to make it not sound like a threat.

“Now? Really?” Stiles replied. Chris rolled his eyes.

Yes. Stiles, are you sure you’re ready for this? This isn’t one demon. This is a battle that could start a war.”

Stiles laughed lightly. “I’m a Winchester, Chris. I was born ready.” Instead of calming his friend, however, Stiles’ words seemed to do the opposite. Chris’ eyes narrowed, and it was with great reserve that he spoke calmly.

“There’s blood on that name, Stiles. On that family. I wouldn’t wear it so proudly.” Chris said ominously.

Stiles was about to reply when a grinding noise came from the door. It opened to reveal five demons, the one in front stepping forward with her long brown hair, taking in her surroundings. She smirked.

“Well, what do we have here?”

 

It was the same demon who had tied him up, Dean realized, that bitch in the black leather jacket, the purple shirt, and black jeans, looking at them all like they were adorable five year olds, and not hunters with the capacity to kill.

“You’re the demon who kidnapped me.” Dean said, more for the pack’s benefit than for his. “You’re Alexander’s second-in-command.” Behind Dean, Stiles looked shell-shocked.

“ _Was_ his second in command.” She corrected, her horrible grin never leaving her face. “Now I’m just in command.” She gestured behind her to the four male demons she commanded. They filed in behind her.

“What’s your name, then?” Sam asked snarkily, gun raised and bitchface on. The demon, unfazed, only grinned wider.

“Stiles knows.” She replied. Her eyes set on the boy. “He recognizes this vessel. We have the same name.”

Sam and Dean looked at their brother expectantly.

“Meredith.” Stiles whispered to himself. Then louder, to the room. “Meredith. I know her. She was in Mystic Falls. She’s the doctor who patched me up after-” He paused. “But wait, that means-”

“I did my homework.” Meredith said. “The moment Alexander was killed. I couldn’t do much, not around here, but the last place anyone saw you not in Beacon Hills was Mystic Falls, Virginia. Imagine my surprise when I take a vessel there, do some digging, and find out that my bosses’ killer is actually a Winchester.”

“Now I remember you.” Dean said. “You’re the crazy blood chick.” Meredith laughed.

“Well, not me, per se. But my vessel. Well, Stiles, are you still going to plan to kill me? If I die, then so does the doctor who saved your life.” Meredith smiled, knowing she had him. Stiles, however, over the initial shock, was beginning to plot.

“The question is why you want to kill me, Meredith. You aren’t upset that Alexander is dead.” Stiles said. The pack looked on with dropped jaws. Meredith merely smiled. “Why would you be?” Stiles continued. “His death put you in power. He wasn’t as smart as you. The whole demonic world is better without him. So why?”

“Politics.” Meredith stated. “As well as survival. You Winchesters are a plague. You, Stiles, are more dangerous than you realize, and it’ll send a message to Crowley. He has an unhealthy obsession with you Winchesters. If I want to knock him out of power, then I have to hit him where it hurts. Be it one hunter...” her eyes traveled to Sam and Dean in defensive stances. “Two, or three.” She paused before continuing. “Do you know why Alexander came here in the first place?”

“Don’t know, don’t care, sweetheart.” Dean said.

“You should. Alexander came here because he couldn’t. Not until a week ago. You have a tree here, the nemeton. It draws supernatural beings. Not angels or demons, but creatures with souls, anything that goes to purgatory. When it’s inactive, however, it’s the opposite. Monsters aren’t drawn to it, but angels and demons are repelled. It’s like the world’s best warding. Once that warding went away, a week ago, well, my boss noticed. He decided to make up for lost time.” Meredith grimaced. “I told him he would draw attention. And I was right.”

“Can we get on with this?” Dean asked. “I really can’t stand the monologuing.”

“Sure, Dean!” Meredith exclaimed with a wink. She turned to her demonic thugs. “Kill them all.”

 

The thugs charged, brandishing weapons, but were met with a remarkable resistance. One of them was met with the Argents. Allison shot an arrow in his leg. He screamed in pain, but didn’t stop advancing, instead tore it out of his leg. Allison shot another, and another, but the process kept repeating. So Chris punched him in the face. The demon laughed, and used his power to throw Chris against the wall and pin him there. Allison grabbed a canteen and uncapped it quickly. She threw it’s contents at the the demon’s face, dousing him with holy water. The demon howled as angry red burns covered his face, which allowed Chris to drop from the wall. He crept up behind the demon and pulled a taught black string over his neck. Then, making sure his windpipe was not cut off completely, he lowered the choking demon to the ground. The demon passed out, and Chris and Allison restrained it, restraining his hands with iron and holding him down inside a circle of salt. When the demon came to, his body could not move.

The second demon charged for Sam and Dean. “We don’t get paid enough for this.” Dean mumbled as he dodged the demon’s punch. Sam clocked the demon in the face, who kicked Sam in the shin. Sam buckled and went down, while Dean kicked the demon swiftly in the stomach. The demon recoiled, but instead of being winded like a human would be, he quickly rebounded and charged. Dean blocked a series of punches thrown, before throwing his own, only to have those blocked. He kicked again, but the demon dodged him. Meanwhile, Sam came up from behind with the knife, and stabbed the demon in the leg. The demon grunted in pain and turned to face Sam, and Dean took this opportunity to execute a sweeping kick to the floor, knocking the demon’s legs out from under him. The demon fell to the ground, and Sam and Dean rushed to incapacitate it. Sam stabbed him in the hand, and Dean locked his feet together with iron cuffs. Then they poured a circle of salt around him. The demon, held down, glared at them murderously.

“Can it, ugly.” Dean snapped. “It ain’t easy being mean.”

Isaac was a little unprepared for when the third demon came charging at him. Luckily, Scott was, and he used his werewolf strength to catch the demon’s momentum and throw him to the ground at Isaac’s feet. Scott’s eyes glowed red. Isaac shook his head. He would have to get used to that. Then the demon got up and attacked, and Isaac had more important things to worry about. He unsheathed his claws and swiped at the demon’s head, but the demon was faster. He ducked, and the next thing Isaac knew he was on his back. Then Scott punched the demon in the face, but something was wrong. He hadn’t shifted.

“Scott!” Isaac yelled over the din of the battle, getting to his feet as the demon charged for another attack, “Why haven’t you shifted?”

“I can’t!” Scott replied, dodging a blow from the demon. It was true. His eyes were red but he had no claws or fangs. “The darkness. I can’t or I’ll lose control!”

“Well this is a great time for the side effects of the sacrifice to kick in!” Isaac shouted.

“No.” Scott corrected him. “It’s been like this all week. But it’s getting worse!” Isaac turned to look at his friend but that was his mistake. The demon tackled him, pinning him to the ground. Scott stood over the pair, trying to pull the demon off but it was no use. The demon punched Isaac in the face once, then twice, then again and again. Isaac yelled as he felt his nose break, blood pouring down his face. _This is it_. He thought. _I’m going to die_.

“Hey!” A booming voice sounded from across the room. Isaac, through his bloodied vision, could see as Dean ran up to the demon and stabbed him in the shoulder with a wicked looking knife. The demon’s shoulder flashed orange as he screamed, and Isaac took the opportunity to scramble out from under him. The demon looked at Dean furiously, and Dean looked back, with the same ferociousness he had shown Isaac a day ago. And funnily enough, Isaac was no longer afraid. Not when he knew he could count on Dean to save him. Scott took advantage of the demon’s distraction to spread a circle of salt around him. Then Dean, for good measure, knocked him to the floor.

The fourth demon glowered angrily as he was circled by two werewolves with piercing blue eyes. Derek and Peter swiped their claws at the demon as they circled, careful to avoid any fatal blows. As it was, the demon had scratched arms and legs, and still he advanced, with a growl to match any werewolf. He fought Derek and Peter with excellent kicks and punches, at a speed that had them struggling to block and reciprocate. Amidst the whirl of limbs, one of the demon’s large hands found it’s way around Derek’s neck, and he squeezed, lifting the former alpha off of the ground. It was at moments like these where Derek really missed his alpha strength. _Well this sucks._ He thought. _Instead of getting killed by the demon wolf, I get to be killed by a demon. Progress._ Derek’s vision was blackening as his air supply was cut off, but he saw the demon using his free hand to fight off Peter. Then, in a whirl of fiery red hair and a dull thwacking sound, Derek was on the floor, released from the demon’s grasp. As he caught his breath, he looked up to see Lydia Martin, in all her glory, standing over the fallen demon with a lead pipe raised in the air. She must have hit him on the back of the head.

“I’m not useless, you know.” Lydia quipped, laughing at Derek’s dumbfounded expression. Then she quickly spread out the salt she was holding in her other hand, ignoring Peter’s impressed expression.

Meredith went straight for Stiles. She did not run, she walked purposefully, taking safety in the surrounding chaos. She knew that everyone else would be too busy fighting her demons to protect the youngest Winchester. As Meredith advanced, Stiles backed up, eyes wide, until he was flush against the back wall, Meredith mere inches in front of him.

“Drop the gun, Stiles.” she said teasingly. “We both know you aren’t going to shoot.” Stiles obliged, the gun clattering to the floor. At first, the noise could not be heard over the cacophony. But then, just as the gun settled with a final _ping!,_ it was met with silence. Slowly, Meredith turned around to see the pack and the Winchesters stare at her. Her demons were on the floor, incapacitated.

“It’s over, Meredith.” Stiles said from behind her. Meredith whirled to face him.

“It is far from over.” She hissed. "Or did you forget that my demons can possess new bodies. Or maybe that I have backup outside of the town.” While she talked, Stiles walked around her to face her in front of his brothers and pack. She turned with him.

“Your demons are in salt circles.” Lydia said. “They can’t possess anyone.” Meredith glared at Lydia. Lydia merely rolled her eyes.

“I am more powerful than you can imagine, banshee.” Meredith spat. “I know tricks from the bottom of hell.” She snapped her fingers, and the salt circles around her minions broke. “Find new bodies. Now!”

“Don’t bother.” Stiles said over her. “You’ll find Beacon Hills completely empty. And you won’t be able to leave, either. I evacuated the town. One quick phone call to the sheriff.”

_Scott ran out of the bunker, eager to draw a devil’s trap. “Sam,” Stiles said before following his friend, “a curfew won’t keep the demons from possessing people. Call my dad, have him evacuate the town. With the hell it’s been through, I’m sure no one would mind.” Sam nodded and Stiles grabbed his spray paint cans and followed his friend out the door._

“You didn’t finish your devil trap.” Meredith said with a smirk. “What’s to stop me from leaving?”

Stiles chuckled. “Besides us? A ring of salt around the entire town.” Meredith’s eyes widened and she began to shake with anger. “The devil’s trap was a ploy. I knew it was a matter of time before a demon grabbed me or my brothers. So with all eyes on me, what’s to stop a little werewolf named Isaac from running around with bags of salt?” Stiles shot a grateful smile to the beaten down beta.

“And me?” Meredith asked, venom in her voice.

Stiles smirked. “Come and get me.”

Meredith drew a knife from her boot. She charged, but after a few steps hit an invisible wall. She felt a drop on her hand, and when she looked at it she saw that it was a drop of shiny gold paint. Her eyes snapped up to the gold on the ceiling, and with a frustrated shriek at the devil’s trap, Meredith threw her knife directly for Stiles’ face.

It was due to years of training as a hunter that Stiles was able to drop to the floor, the knife sailing over his head and embedding itself into the wall far behind him. When he got back up, his demeanor had changed. Gone was the playfulness. In it’s stead was a hunter with the wrath of a Winchester.

“Meredith,” Stiles said slowly, “You deserve everything you’re going to get.” Lydia tossed him her cell phone, and Stiles quickly dialed a number before pressing it to his ear. “Dad, it’s me. break the salt line.” Then, Meredith’s eyes widened in fear, as the King of Hell appeared in the doorway.

“Hello Meredith.”

“Crowley.” Meredith stammered. “I-I-I’m sorry.” She was shaking now, a pitiful shadow of the mighty leader she once was.

“This is your own fault, Meredith.” Stiles said, but there was no hostility in his voice, only cold detachment. “You got into this by hunting the Winchesters and that was your mistake. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for my brothers, for my pack.” Stiles narrowed his eyes. “There’s blood on my hands because of that promise. So when the fires of hell are surrounding you, remember that.” Stiles’ eyes flashed in a way that no one had seen since he pulled a trigger.

“When a whole world of angels and demons are coming after you,” Meredith retorted, her eyes equally angry, “You remember that the blood is soaked into your name.”

“Spare me.” Crowley muttered. He walked over to the embedded knife in the wall and threw it at the ceiling, breaking the gold devil’s trap. Meredith still stood motionless. “Meredith,” Crowley continued, “you have committed treason. You have lead a faction against my rule. Your sentence, and theirs,” he gestured to the other four demons, “will be decided once you join me in hell. Now, Miss Martin, if you please?”  
Lydia jumped, started to be addressed directly by Crowley, but nevertheless cleared her throat. _“Exortius omniste, omnis imundus spiritus, omis satanica potestas...”_


	14. Epilouge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! The last chapter! Don't fret, there will be a heck of a ton of sequels, some already posted on ff.net, one already posted here. (Poisoned Youth.) So this epilogue is long and wonderful, and kind of goes into Stiles' character a little more... with a twist. Here's the deal: the story ends on a cliffhanger. Here's the catch: it isn't actually a cliffhanger. I really wanted to weave the story into canon, so you know the dream sequence that starts of season 3b? It ends there. It also ends right before Supernatural's season 6 episode 21, 'The Man Who Would Be King.' Thanks to all the reading and kudos and reviews- so much more than I could have predicted!- be sure to check out my other stories, (I have a Supernatural one, One Way Ticket, I just started posting) be sure to let me know what you thought and enjoy!

Ch. 14

Epilogue

Meredith Fell and the other vessels had woken up for the most part uninjured. They had been patched up, returned to their families, and sworn to secrecy. It’s not like anyone would have believed them anyway. Merideth, before leaving, had thanked Stiles for saving her, muttering how she would be getting as far away from the supernatural as possible.

“It’s not enough for vampires to live in my home town! Now I get possessed by a demon too?” She had exclaimed rather loudly in the airport. “Screw it all. I’m moving to Alaska.” Then she had hugged the Winchesters one at a time before boarding her flight to Virginia.

 

“Bye Sam! Bye Dean!” Stiles said as he hugged his brothers next to their car that afternoon after dropping off Meredith. The whole pack was there too, minus Peter, and Sam and Dean shook hands with everyone before their departure.

“Here.” Sam said after handing a slip of paper to Chris. “That’s our number. Call us if you need any backup, or research... anything.”

“Likewise.” Chris said, giving Sam his number. “Just... don’t come back unless you really have to.”

“And Allison,” Sam said to the huntress standing next to her father, “call us if you have any questions about things other than werewolves.” Allison grinned widely. Chris looked a little disgruntled.

“Sunday?” Dean asked Stiles.

“Yeah, I’ll call you Sunday.” Stiles replied.

“Think you can stay out of trouble until then?”

Stiles grinned mischievously. “No.”

“Good, just checking.” Dean said. Then he and Sam got in the Impala and drove away.

 

“Well, feathers, I didn’t think I’d find you here.” Crowley said with a smirk as he walked over to the vast tree stump.

“You saved them.” Cas mumbled. “Thank you.”

Crowley scoffed. “We do have a deal.” He paused. “You know the Winchesters are on to you.”

“I surmised as much, yes. They won’t suspect me. Not unless you keep quiet.”

Crowley mimed zipping his lips. “My trap is sealed, mate. I want to find purgatory just as much as you.”

“And you think this...’nematon’ could be a clue?” Cas mused.

Crowley walked slowly around the base of the tree stump, studying it. “I thought it might be.” He said. “That’s why I came here in the first place. But I did some investigating, and found bupkis. It’s druish magic, and while it’s aura resembles that of purgatory, hence the attraction of supernatural creatures, it’s not connected at all. We’re going to have to find another way.” 

Cas nodded. “Do Sam and Dean know why you came here?” he asked.

“No. Fortunately I had to take care of some rebels, so I passed it off as that. That, and Stiles.”

“I did not know he was in danger.” Cas said, looking a little hurt.

“That’s a bad sign, my friend.” Crowley said sympathetically.

“Why?” Cas asked, confused.

Crowley chuckled. “It means they trust you less than you think.” With that, he vanished, and Castiel was left alone staring at the nemeton, praying he was doing the right thing.

 

Peter was happy. The Winchesters were out of town, the demon was dealt with, and best of all, no one had seen through him. He smiled to himself in the safety of the loft. Dean had thought he was mad at him? Peter couldn’t care less about Dean Winchester. He could not deny, however, that hunters had an uncanny knack for reading people. It was a necessary part of the job. While he was too close to the Argents for them to see his ulterior motives, who would say the same for the infamous Winchester brothers? So, Peter had worn a mask of anger, and it had worked. It was normal, after all, for a werewolf to be less-than-charming to a pair of hunters. So, just like he had predicted, Sam and Dean had rolled their eyes and turned away.

However, things weren’t perfect. He still had Stiles to deal with. The boy turning out to be a hunter had been a curveball, one Peter had tried to dodge by throwing him out of the pack. Since it didn’t work, Peter supposed he would have to be more careful. Stiles already didn’t like him, the attempt to kick him out meant he had a reason to distrust him. If Stiles found out... But that would be preposterous. No, Peter would succeed in killing Scott McCall. Even if he had to side with his bitter rival, Peter would succeed. What was that he had told the Darach, after slashing her throat a week ago, the day before the demon arrived? He was the alpha. He has always been the alpha.

 

“Stiles! I’m fine! Now will you please stop asking?”

“Well, Lydia, the shrieking would kind of imply otherwise.” Stiles said as he reached for his strawberry-blonde friend. Lydia’s icy glare stopped his arms in mid-air, and Stiles shrunk back, bracing for her wrath. He realized he probably shouldn’t have driven over to her house without warning, but he wanted to make sure she was ok. Lydia had voted for him in the woods the afternoon before, but they had never talked about the wedge of secrets between them. _It took us so long to be friends. I don’t want that to end._ Stiles hoped desperately that whatever damage he did was repairable.

“Lydia?” Stiles asked, sitting on her vivid purple bed.

“Mmm?” Lydia replied sitting next to him, her attention suddenly transfixed on her compact mirror.

“Are we- I mean, are you-”

“Spit it out, Stiles!” Lydia snapped, turning away from dabbing her lips.

“Are you okay with finding out who I am?” Stiles all-but-whispered. Lydia shut her compact with a _snap!_ and turned towards her friend.

“Of course.” She said so matter-of-factly that Stiles was gaping.

“That’s it?”

“Stiles,” Lydia said with a toss of her perfect hair, “you forget that I’ve been through this before. You guys kept me in the dark during the whole Kanima thing, so I had to go through it on my own. Finding out Allison was a hunter paled in comparison to finding out Scott and Isaac were werewolves, they were working with murder suspect Derek, also a werewolf, and my boyfriend was a lizard hybrid. It was like that when I found out about you like what, 36 hours ago? While I had assumed that other things besides shapeshifters had to have existed, that was nothing compared to facing a demon in real life. Seeing it hurt you. To find out you could protect yourself was more of a relief than anything. I learned that my best friend is a hunter. I don’t see why you can’t be one too.”

“Well when you put it like that...” Stiles muttered. Lydia threw a pillow at him.

“I am relieved, though. What with you and Allison being the only two humans, besides Chris. It’s good that you can hold your own.”

“What about you?” Stiles asked.

“I’m a banshee, whatever the fudge that means.” Lydia said with a smile. Stiles smiled too, and Lydia noticed for the first time his dark circles. “Stiles,” she inquired worriedly, “what’s wrong?”

“Nothing!” Stiles said reassuringly, with another grin that didn’t quite stretch to his face. A sharp glare from Lydia quickly sent him scrambling to explain. “I haven’t been sleeping much.” He admitted. “What with the demon and everything. And when I do, I have these really weird dreams.” Realization hit Lydia like a ton of bricks.

“It’s the darkness.” Lydia whispered. “It’s starting, isn’t it.” Stiles nodded.

“Maybe. Maybe it’s just been there all week and none of us noticed it. I remember, I was having some trouble drawing devil’s traps because the symbols looked wrong. And Scott, he couldn’t turn.”

“And Allison?” Lydia asked quietly.

“I don’t know.” Stiles lamented. “I’ll call Sam and Dean, eventually, but I think they’ve got enough on their plate. Something about Cas...”

Lydia groaned. “Talk about too much on my plate! Are you ready for school tomorrow?” Stiles groaned and tossed a pillow at Lydia’s giggling head.

“Don’t remind me.”

 

“Allison!” Stiles yelled, desperate to catch up to his friend. Allison whirled around from her previously solitary run in the woods, startled to see Stiles running toward her. She stopped and waited for him to catch up laughing at how horribly out of breath he was when he did.

“What’s up?” Allison asked over the heavy panting.

“I just- I just - wanted to thank you.” Stiles stuttered out in between breaths.

“For what?” Allison asked, surprised this time.

“For standing up for me.” Stiles replied. Now that he was no longer out of breath he was bashful and a little embarrassed. “It probably wasn’t easy, defending me and two guys you don’t even know, against your dad of all people, so, you know, thanks.”

Allison immediately pulled him into a hug.

“Stiles,” she said into his ear, “There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you. Remember that.” Stiles flushed a deep red. “Besides,” Allison said as she pulled away from the hug, fixing her dark brown hair, “I liked meeting your brothers. They’re nice, and they gave me an offer for information that I might take them up on.”

“You could always ask me.” Stiles said.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Allison teased with a radiant smile. She waved goodbye to her friend and continued on her run. She heard the patter of Stiles’ feet in the opposite direction. She smiled to herself when a shadow up ahead made her pause. She must be going crazy. Because the shadow she saw was a figure whipping around a tree, and the flash of dirty-blond hair almost looked like-

“Kate.” Allison whispered, alone in the forest.

 

Derek was happy, if a little exhausted. The demon was gone, Peter was back to normal, Stiles had stopped bothering him to make sure he was ok. Honestly, Derek didn’t mind that Stiles was a hunter. It meant he no longer had to watch out for the kid. Derek was just glad Cora had gotten out of town before the demon hit it. She had gone back to South America. Maybe he should join her, just for a couple weeks. Werewolves need vacations, too.

 

Chris sighed as he ran to answer the door, an assault of ringing doorbells echoing around his is house. He already knew who it was. Sure enough, the door opened to reveal a ragged-looking Stiles, his hand still firmly pressed on the doorbell.

“Stiles.” The boy jumped at hearing his name, and leapt away from the doorbell, turning red.

“Hello, Mr. Argent.” Stiles said awkwardly, fidgeting around the doorway.

“What do you want, Stiles?” Chris asked cooley. Stiles took a breath before speaking.

“Well, I’ve been going around town, talking to everyone, you know, making sure they’re okay with everything. And I just want you to know that I’m not ready to talk shop. Not with you. You want to know about Adam, right?” Chris nodded, surprised at the boy’s bluntness. “Well I’m a little reluctant to talk about Adam. My family has a pretty bad reputation in the hunter community, and frankly, I don’t trust you with the information.

Allison’s new. She wasn’t raised in the life, she doesn’t have that ragged edge or that quick judgement that I’m sure is ingrained in your system. I told her basically my life story. Anything you want to know, ask her. But I’m not ready to face you as a Winchester. I’m not ready for your judgement.”

“Stiles-” Chris began to say, but Stiles plowed on.

“You told me back at the loft that there was blood on my name. That I shouldn’t use it. I’m sorry, but you’re wrong. I don’t have a choice. What happened to Adam was my father’s fault. Because he wasn’t a hunter, but his lineage was still used against him. The things in the dark don’t care if you’re in the dark, too. But maybe the right information can send them running.”

“Stiles, what happened to your brother?” Chris asked. He didn’t want to put the boy through this, but he had to know.

“He was eaten by ghouls, trying to get revenge for my father’s actions.”

“You’re not worried that that could be you?”

“Mr. Argent, that could be anyone.” Stiles said sharply. “At least I’m better prepared.” Stiles paused. “I know I’m asking a lot, staying in town, when I know how you feel about other hunters, especially my brothers. But technically, I was here first.”

Chris smiled, and reached out his hand. “Stiles, I voted for you to stay. It’ll be a pleasure working with you.”

“God, I hope not.” Stiles said with a laugh. As he walked away, Chris couldn’t help but think that maybe Beacon Hills was better off with a Winchester in town.

 

“Hey Dean?”

“Yeah, Sam?”

“I’m worried.”

“About Cas? Me too.”

“No, not Cas.” Sam said to his brother. “Stiles.”

Dean looked sideways at his brother, before returning his eyes to the road. It was hours after leaving Beacon Hills, and night was beginning to fall. Dean was driving the Impala, with Sam in the passenger sheet, using a map to navigate them to Sioux Falls.

“What are you talking about?” Dean asked. “The kid’s fine. We wouldn’t have left if we thought the demons were still out there, or his pack would tear him to pieces.”

“Look, I can’t explain it!” Sam said angrily. “But when I looked at him last night, he looked so beaten down. He was sickly. His skin was grey, and the bags around his eyes were practically black. Then, when I looked at him a little later, he was fine. It could have been a trick of the light, but I don’t think so.”

To Sam’s surprise, Dean nodded in agreement. “The same thing happened to me,” Dean admitted, “on the car ride to the loft. I questioned him, and he said that he hadn’t been getting much sleep.”

“It could be the darkness, or whatever, that Stiles mentioned when he called us after defeating the Darach.” Sam postulated.

Dean groaned. “Another reason for me to be furious at him. The demon came _the next day!_ That can’t be a good sign.”

Sam sighed. “Look,” he said, “It could be sleep deprivation. If it’s the nematon thing, then Deaton knows how to deal with it. We can’t exactly turn around the car and wait for something bad to happen. Our sheer presence in Beacon Hills caused Stiles’ life to implode. I say we wait it out. We’ll ask Stiles how he’s doing when he calls us in a week.”

“I thought he was calling us Sunday?”

“Today’s Sunday, Jerk.”

“Bitch.” Dean replied. He stretched his arms with a groan, or as much as he could while still driving. “You’re right. We’ve got bigger problems to deal with. Call Bobby and let him know we’re a couple hours out. Tell him to try his hand at angel-proofing the house.” As Sam took out his phone to make the call, Dean kept his eyes on the road. Cas, his brother, why did he feel like things were about to get worse?

 

Scott and Stiles were walking in the woods, just one hour after Stiles confronted Allison.

“You look like crap.” Scott blurted out suddenly.

“Thanks, Scott.” Stiles said sarcastically.

“I mean it, Stiles. Did you sleep at all last night?” Scott asked, his eyes wide and his voice full of concern.

“No.” Stiles, admitted, downcast. “It’s weird. I keep having these strange dreams. And I’m starting to have trouble reading... It’s freaking me out, man.”

“I can’t shift.” Scott said. “I’m scared that if I do, I’ll lose control. It’s the darkness, Stiles. It’s beginning to set in.”

“Fantastic.” Stiles muttered. “Death by tree.” He flinched as he remembered a previous nightmare, of standing in front of the massive tree stump with glaring lights aimed at him. Did he have that dream last night?

“Maybe we should call your brothers?” Scott asked reproachfully, unsure of how to deal with the topic.

“Nah.” Stiles said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “They’ve got bigger problems. How are you dealing with that, by the way?”

“Fine.” Scott said. Stiles looked at him reproachfully. “Really.” Scott clarified. “I’m fine. At first I was a little angry that you didn’t tell me, but now I can see why you didn’t. Then I thought you were going to kill me, but now I see that that’s ridiculous. Now I think it’s for the best, because if you hadn’t been a hunter then who knows what would have happened when I got turned.”

Stiles smiled weakly. “Argent would have had to kill you.”

“Yeah.” Scott said with a sigh. “Did you talk to him afterwards?”

“A little.” Stiles said. “The rest can wait. I’m not ready to face serious hunters as a Winchester yet. We have a little bit of a bad reputation. And he wanted to know about Adam.”

Scott looked at him confused.

“Adam was my half brother.” Stiles clarified. “He was killed. But that can wait too.”

“Ok. But Stiles, I’m fine with who you are. Just be sure to tell me everything.” Scott said with a smile. Slowly, Stiles returned the grin.

“I knew I could count on you!” Stiles said, punching his friend playfully.

“Careful. Unless your new hunter status makes it possible to kick my ass.” Scott teased. Stiles was about to reply when a shier of deja-vu ran through him. That dream about the nemeton, had that been last night? Or minutes ago?

“Stiles, what’s wrong?” Scott asked.

“Remember when I told you about my weird dreams?” Stiles asked, voice shaking. Scott nodded. Stiles gulped before continuing. “I think it’s happening right now.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Scott said quickly. Too quickly.

“No, Scott.” Stiles said firmly, realization dawning on him. He was sure now. “We’ve had this conversation before. Hours ago. Afterwards I went home and ate Chinese food with my dad. Then I went to bed. Scott, this is a dream.”

“Ok, so how do you know?” Scott asked. Stiles found it reassuring that imaginary Scott was just as concerned for his friend as real Scott. “How can you be sure if this is a dream?”

“Fingers.” Stiles whispered. “In dreams, you have extra fingers.”

“Stiles.” Scott said firmly. “Count with me.” Scott held up his closed hands, and slowly raised his left index finger. Stiles closed his eyes as Scott counted out loud.

_One_. Stiles was being paranoid. Why wouldn’t this be real?

_Two_. But he could remember them now. Other dreams where he counted his fingers.

_Three_. Dreams where he screamed to wake up, but nothing happened.

_Four_. The night the Darach was killed, that’s when it first happened.

_Five_. Something was wrong with him. Was it the darkness, or something more?

_Six_. His brothers kept asking what was wrong, and like an idiot he said nothing.

_Seven_. The symbols moved around on the devil’s trap.

_Eight_. It was stupid to think that everything would be over.

_Nine_. Then there was what Crowley said. When Stiles had been ripped from Scott, before being taken to Dean, Crowley had said that he would have liked for a demon to possess Stiles, to spy on his brothers. Dean had asked if Crowley had said anything, and Stiles hadn’t replied that he had. _I would have liked for a demon to possess you, Stiles,_ Crowley had said, _But I can’t. Not because of your little tattoo, but because you’re already possessed._

_Ten._

Stiles’ eyes snapped open, relieved, as Scott held up his hands, the count finished. Stiles sighed. It was real. It was all real. The sunlight and the forest and his friend, but...

“Scott. You forgot your thumbs.” Stiles said, horrified, as he realized that Scott held up ten fingers, with two more tucked away.

“Oh.” Scott said. “My mistake.” He opened up his palms entirely.

_Eleven._

_Twelve._

And Stiles woke up screaming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this looks like a cliffhanger, right? Read the notes at the top. I hope you enjoyed this story, and check out the others in the series.


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